


the truth is that i've never seen a mouth that i would kill to kiss (until now)

by StoriesofmyLife



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adult Peter Parker, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Boys Being Boys, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Bucky Barnes Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Kissing, Kissing Prompts, M/M, Peter Parker Feels, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier - Freeform, Tumblr Prompts, doesn't follow a timeline, i just love these two together, no beta we die like men, scenes will take place in different movies, winterspider
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23774050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoriesofmyLife/pseuds/StoriesofmyLife
Summary: Where Bucky and Peter kiss, a lot (and in a lot of different ways)or-50 types of kisses that Peter and Bucky share over the years, in no particular order.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 26
Kudos: 145





	1. 4.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first time writing for this ship and I'm super excited to delve into the world of Winterspider. I absolutely adore this ship and I love them both as individuals and I love them even more together, so I decided to try my hand at writing a fic for them. 
> 
> This will be a collection of one-shots, in no particular order and in varying different genres--ranging from pure fluff to pure smut, so be warned! It's based off a tumblr prompt that I actually was tagged in for a different fandom and I really enjoy writing them and I hope you enjoy reading them :)
> 
> Updates will be sporadic, but since all the COVID-19 quarantine, I've got a lot of time on my hands so I'm sure I'll be updating semi-regularly for the time being. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think :)
> 
> title taken partially from "Finally // beautiful stranger" by Halsey
> 
> this work is also unbeta'd, so any mistakes are mine and I do edit my own stories, but I occasionally miss some things so please excuse any mistakes that I might've missed

_4). An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose_

_Thud!_

Peter falls backwards on the mat with a groan, rubbing at his chest where Bucky’s foot tried to impale itself in his sternum, glaring up at the ceiling of the training room and wondering who’s idea it was for him to train with the ex-HYDRA assassin and why they thought it sounded like a good one. 

“C’mon, kid, I know you can do better than that,” Bucky goads from across the mat and Peter can just picture the smug grin dancing on his stupidly handsome face. 

Normally, that would be enough to get him to push back up from the floor and have another go at trying to wipe the arrogant smirk off his face—that’s how he’s found himself in this exact position over a hundred times in the just the last hour alone—but his body aches, his head hurts and he really just wants to take a nap.

However, Peter can’t leave the taunting completely unanswered, so he musters enough energy to lift his hand up and give Bucky the bird, holding it long enough for the asshole to see it before he lets his arm drop back to the mat like a limp noodle and grimaces because even _that_ hurts. 

Peter hears Bucky chuckle, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down his spine that he blames on the sweat cooling on his skin and the frigid temperature of the training room and not on the… _something else_ that’s been floating around underneath his skin since he officially moved in to the Avengers compound and got to know the mysterious super solider. 

Originally, he’d been intimidated by the ex-assassin who had a tendency to brood and keep people at arms length with well timed sarcastic comments and glares that could melt paint. His very aura screamed ‘go away’ and Peter was more than happy to give him a wide berth until he began to notice that Bucky was never present for Avenger related things unless he had to be, _which_ , okay, fine, but he also noticed that no one really seemed to take note or care about his lack of presence at game nights or movie nights or team breakfasts or dinners. 

Not even Steve, who, when Peter asked about it, gave him a small smile that made Peter think he just asked him a rather loaded question and patted him on the shoulder in a way that was only _this side_ of condescending and went on about his day. 

So Peter took it upon himself to try and make Bucky feel more included—inviting him to movie nights, asking him for his help with building legos, teaching him to play chess (which, in hindsight, was a terrible idea to teach an ex-HYDRA assassin who’s very survival relied on _strategy_ and needless to say, Bucky took to it like a duck to water and beat Peter at every game they played together. Sometimes, he’d let Peter _think_ he was winning, only to completely come back from behind with a move Peter never saw coming and declare check mate with that smug grin of his and leaving Peter wondering just where the _hell_ he went wrong, the sadistic bastard)—and eventually, over time, Bucky started to slowly open up to the rest of team and become a part of the family. 

(Well, except for Tony, those two were never going to get along, no matter how much Peter tried and he was about ready to just wash his hands of the whole thing and declare that mission _failed)._

And during the midst of it all, Peter found himself falling for the enigmatic super soldier. Underneath the hard exterior, Bucky was sweet and gentle and kind and he listened to Peter ramble about his upcoming foray into the college life and how he nervous but also excited about the fresh start. How he missed his friends already, but he didn’t miss high school. How he loved May, but how he was relieved about moving out and being able to have his own space. How their relationship changed after the snap. 

Bucky listened to him and didn’t always offer advice, but when he did, it was usually thoughtful and well-spoken, like he weighed and measured his words carefully before he spoke them, because he knew they mattered to Peter and he didn’t want to let him down. 

And they _did_ matter to Peter, more than he liked to admit, even to himself. 

Bucky had become his best friend, but also _more_ and Peter honestly didn’t know what he was going to do when he was over four hours away at MIT, in a new apartment, in a new city, with new people and new places and experiencing it all without Bucky—who won’t be there to call him a punk in that exasperated but fond way of his when Peter was working himself up over something that was usually nothing or to play chess with him after a long day or to cuddle on the couch with him when the nightmares kept him awake and Bucky would let him rest his head on his chest and he’d run his fingers through Peter’s hair and tell him stories about places he’s been or pre-serum Steve stories until Peter fell asleep to the soft vibrations of Bucky’s voice and in the warmth of his arms and—

A foot nudges him in the ribs and with a grunt of exasperation, Peter slits his eyes open to see Bucky standing over him, an amused grin dancing on his stupidly plush pink lips. 

“Can I help you?” Peter asks, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his voice, which only serves to make Bucky’s grin widen. 

“Just checking to see if you’re still alive,” Bucky informs him cheerfully.

“Barely,” Peter mutters, throwing an arm over his eyes and ignoring the way his skin breaks out in goose bumps when that same chuckle from earlier slips past Bucky’s lips. 

“Well, try not to die,” Bucky advises, _the bastard._ “It’s been a while since I’ve had to dispose of a body and I don’t think Stark would buy your death being an accident, so that option is out,” a pause and then, “well, I guess that angle _could_ work—you could run out of your webs mid air, your suit could malfunction, Stark does tend to work on no sleep, so I’m sure it wouldn’t be hard to convince him that he screwed something up—“

Peter lifts his arm from his eyes and squints up at Bucky incredulously. “Are you actually planning out my death right now? Like, you’ve actively put thought into this?”

Bucky shrugs his deliciously muscular shoulders. “Only when you’re being particularly annoying.” He says, offhand, but when he looks down, Peter can see the twinkle in his blue eyes that are actually grey up close and it doesn’t make Peter’s heart flip flop in his chest, _it doesn’t._

“Ha ha,” Peter says sarcastically, which only makes Bucky laugh, a quick, sharp sound that Peter tries not to feel _too_ accomplished about.

Instead of focusing on that, Peter, tired of being laughed and mocked, uses Bucky’s momentary distraction to his advantage. Swinging a leg out and wrapping it around Bucky’s right leg, yanking sharp and sudden _,_ sending Bucky tumbling to the mat with only a sharp inhale of breath giving away his surprise. 

Peter has all of one second to enjoy wiping the cocky look from Bucky’s face before momentary panic sets in—because what he _didn’t_ account for with his little sneak attack was the fact that Bucky was literally standing right in _front_ of him when he did it and since Peter essentially dead legged him, Bucky’s leg collapsed, trapping Peter’s foot between the back of his thigh and his calf, so instead of landing _next_ to Peter, he lands _on top of_ Peter, all two-hundred and fifty pounds of him crushing Peter between the mat and his very _sweaty_ and very _muscular_ body. 

He has just enough sense to move his head so their noses don’t collide in a _very_ painful way and Bucky seems to have the same idea and somehow, when Peter goes left and Bucky goes right, their lips brush together and despite the pain, it sends a shock of heat through Peter’s body and he can’t help the gasp that leaves his mouth that has nothing to do with the wind getting knocked out of him. 

Grey eyes meet his and they stare, wide eyed, at each other for a brief moment and there’s an apology on the tip of Peter’s tongue, but it dies before he can even really decide what part he’s apologizing for—dead legging him or accidentally kissing him—when the shock fades from Bucky’s eyes and it gets replaced by something deeper, darker, almost _primal_ in its intensity when they flicker down to Peter’s lips and _okay,_ _that’s hot._

Peter swallows heavily, Adam’s apple bobbing and he licks his suddenly dry lips, heat pooling like liquid fire low in his belly when Bucky’s eyes track the movement with a laser focus Peter’s only seen when they’re on missions. He’d be lying if he said he never thought about what it would be like, to be under that stare—feel the weight of it on his skin like the world’s sexiest choke hold, dizzying, oxygen depriving with just enough danger to get Peter’s blood pumping—and now that he is, he finds himself almost unable to handle it, his senses tingling, bordering on too much, overwhelmed but in such a good way that he swears his toes are curling and they haven’t even done anything yet. 

He can feel the hard lines of Bucky’s body pressed to every square inch of his— _every square inch_. He can feel the way Bucky’s chest expands with every breath, the heavy flutter of his heart beat that matches the staccato rhythm of Peter’s own, the warmth of his skin even through their clothes and Peter wants to feel it against his own flushed skin without the barriers. He wants to trace every scar, every bruise, every bad memory left behind on his skin with his lips until the only thing that’s left is just _Peter._ He can smell the salt from his sweat, the pine of his soap and Peter wants to _drown_ _in it all._

“Peter,” Bucky says, voice low and gravelly and it sounds strained, almost like a warning and Peter has to bite back a fond laugh because this is _Bucky_ and Bucky would _never_ do anything to intentionally hurt Peter. He could place his hands on Bucky’s chest now in a silent plea for him to get the hell off of him and Bucky would do it without a complaint, because he would never force Peter into something if he didn’t want it. 

Too bad Peter wants this more than he can ever remember wanting anything in his life and he lets Bucky know that by tangling his fingers in his dark hair and closing the last few centimeters between them, brushing his lips gently, reverently against Bucky’s, giving him the choice to pull away if he wants to. Because just like Bucky, Peter would never do something to Bucky without giving him a chance to say _no_. 

And there’s a brief, panic inducing moment, when Bucky’s hand lands on his cheek that Peter thinks that the answer to his unspoken question will end with a resounding _no_ in the form of Bucky calling him a punk and shoving his face away. But it doesn’t come. 

Instead, Bucky cups Peter’s cheek in the warm palm of his flesh hand and kisses him back with a rumble that’s almost a growl that vibrates his chest and Peter feels it all the way to his toes. Fireworks explode behind Peter’s eyelids as Bucky’s lips—chapped and warm and rough and _perfect—_ move with his like he’s oxygen and Bucky needs Peter to breathe, devouring his mouth like it’s his last meal and Peter arches into it, kissing him back just as desperately.

Bucky taste like winter—minty, sharp and fresh. But kissing him is like touching an open flame—hot, burning with the hint of danger of getting consumed by the fire and it’s everything Peter imagined it would feel like and _more. So_ _much more._ He’s overwhelmed by it, all of it—his world has narrowed down to the feel of Bucky on top of him, the taste of him on his lips, the sounds he makes when Peter tugs at his hair. His brain is just a chorus of _BuckyBuckyBucky_ and _moremoremore._

And judging by the way Bucky is kissing him and holding him, Peter knows it’s the same for him, too. And isn’t that a heady and wild thought. That Peter could be his world just as much as Bucky is his and the intensity of that thought is almost too much to think about, especially when he’s being kissed like it’s his last day on Earth.

Peter’s brain short-circuits when Bucky bites his lower lip, tugging it between his teeth and Peter keens, parting his lips on a gasp that Bucky takes advantage of, slipping his tongue past Peter’s lips and tangling it with Peter’s, stroking the flames of Peter’s desire and it’s obscene, the things Bucky can do with his tongue—teasing it over the roof of Peter’s mouth in a way that tickles but not in a way that makes him want to laugh, _au contrare,_ it makes him want to rip Bucky’s clothes off and make a mess of the smirking asshole. And when Bucky traps Peter’s tongue with his and _sucks,_ slow, dirty and meaning every second of it, Peter swears he could die right on the spot and be happy about it. 

He squirms underneath him and they both moan when Peter wiggles the right way, their straining erections brush together through the thin material of their gym shorts and Peter chases the friction, canting his hips upwards and he’s rewarded with a sound that’s definitely a _growl_ that make his cock twitch and Bucky’s metal hand grip his thigh and push it outwards, so his leg is pressed to the mat and this time, when Bucky thrusts his hips, Peter feels it _e v e r y w h e r e._

Their kissing becomes sloppy, more pants and moans and breathing the same air as they rut against each other, rough and dirty, right in the middle of the training room where anyone could walk in and see them. The thought makes Peter’s cock twitch, pre-cum pooling in the material of his boxer brief’s and it only adds to the sensation as the wet material rubs against the sensitive head and he can feel his stomach clenching, the need to come burning bright in his veins. 

“Bucky,” Peter whimpers and it’s a plea, a demand even though Peter’s not even sure what he’s pleading _for._

“I’ve got you, doll,” Bucky murmurs, voice like smooth velvet over Peter’s lips. “‘M not goin’ anywhere, ‘m stayin’ right here, with you, okay?”

Peter nods, breath hitching when the angle of Bucky’s hips change and his erection brushes against Peter’s ass and just the suggestion of it—Bucky, inside of him, spreading him open and filling him in ways that Peter’s only let himself think about when he’s alone in his room—and seeing the way heat flashes hot like lightening across the a stormy sky in Bucky’s eyes has Peter’s head spinning and he comes with a sharp cry that Bucky swallows with his lips, never taking his eyes off of Peter as he falls head first into his own release with a low groan, cock twitching against the now damp material of his gym shorts.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” Bucky whispers against the sweat slicked skin of Peter’s neck and despite laying in a heap on the floor in his own sweat and come drying unpleasantly against his skin, Peter flushes bright red at the compliment. 

He suddenly feels shy and so overwhelmed with everything and Bucky must sense his shift in mood, because he pulls away from where he was sucking a bruise into Peter’s skin and looks down at Peter with such a warmth and devotion that it makes Peter’s heart sing and his stomach fill with butterflies. 

“Don’t tell me you’re gettin’ all shy on me now,” Bucky teases with an amused smile tugging at the the corners of his kiss-swollen lips. 

Peter bites his lip, looking away but a hand, cool, even through the leather of the glove, lands on his cheek, preventing him from even thinking about turning his head away. 

“Hey,” Bucky murmurs, voice gentle, coaxing, thumb brushing over the curve of Peter’s cheekbone. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

Peter swallows and meets Bucky’s concerned gaze shyly. “I’ve uh, I’ve never done that before.” He admits bashfully, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. 

“Oh, doll,” Bucky says softly. “I’m sorry—I didn’t know. I just assumed—and I shouldn't have and I’m sorry—“

The guilt in Bucky’s voice and the apologetic look in his eyes makes Peter’s chest ache. He pulls him down into a kiss, just a press of lips, nothing more. He wasn’t trying to start anything, he just wanted to reassure Bucky that this was okay, that he was okay, _they were okay._

“S’okay,” Peter murmurs, brushing a hand through Bucky’s hair, marveling at it’s softness and texture and reveling in the contented hum that rumbles from Bucky’s throat. “I wanted this, believe me. You have no idea how badly I wanted this.” Peter assures him, pressing a quick, but firm kiss against his lips. 

A smirk spreads across those same lips and Peter feels his flush spread from his cheeks down to his toes at the mischievous gleam in his grey eyes. 

“Trust me, sweetheart,” He hums, nipping at Peter’s kiss bruised lips. “I know how badly you wanted it,” he promises, voice a low murmur and it sends a shiver racing down Peter’s spine. “Can I tell you a secret?” he whispers, breath tickling Peter’s neck. 

And Peter nods dumbly, because words have left his brain at the moment and he finds himself already half-hard again, cock twitching back to life in his ruined shorts and he wonders if that’s the perks of being a young kid in his sexual prime, Bucky’s weight on top of him or a yet to be discovered side effect of the bite. Probably a combination of all three. 

“I wanted it just as badly,” Bucky confesses softly in his ear and Peter gasps when Bucky presses against him and he can feel him, hard and throbbing against his ass. “And I still do.”

“Bucky,” Peter breathes, grinding down against him and he feels a rush of euphoria when Bucky groans against his neck, the rough drag of his beard brushing over the sensitive skin of his neck making him whine and he wonders, idly, if it’s possible to be addicted to a person after just one time. 

“Whaddya say, doll?” Bucky murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to the skin behind Peter’s ear before he pulls away and looks down at Peter with a raised eyebrow. His eyes are molten silver as they gaze down at Peter and even though arousal is the clearest emotion, Peter can see the underlying tenderness, the desire for just _Peter_ and Peter _alone_ obvious and it makes his heart flutter in his chest. 

Cupping Bucky’s face in his hands, Peter leans up and Bucky meets him half way, their lips tangling together in a sweet, gentle kiss that melts Peter’s insides and the butterflies in his belly flutter their spread wings. 

“Wanna be yours,” Peter breathes the admission when they part for air. “Make me yours, Bucky, please. Want you,” Peter murmurs, kissing him roughly. “All of it, all of you.” He says and he means it, down to his very bones.

Bucky’s eyes are dark, but his smile is gentle when gazes down at Peter, tangling his fingers in the curls at the nape of Peter’s neck in a way that has his eyes fluttering closed. 

“You ain’t gotta ask me twice, doll,” Bucky murmurs, kissing Peter soundly and his heart soars. 

That familiar fire starts to build in Peter’s belly, coursing through his veins at break neck speed and he loses himself in Bucky’s lips, his tongue, his arms around his waist, the way his hands grip his hips—

“ _Oh for the love of God!_ ” Clint complains loudly from across the room, “I spar on those mats, goddammit! Go fuck in your room like normal people, no one wants to see that!”

Bucky just flips him off over his shoulder and after a moment, the door shuts and they hear his grumbling fade with his footsteps as flees as far away as possible. 

Peter’s face is flushed fifty different shades of red in embarrassment and it only worsens when Bucky smirks down at him, grey eyes almost black with arousal and cocks a questioning eyebrow.

“Whaddya say, doll?” He asks again in that slow Brooklyn drawl that makes Peter shiver and his cock twitch, grey eyes twinkling. “Wanna see what we can accomplish in a bed?”

_He’s going to be the death of me,_ Peter thinks when Bucky drags him up off the floor, not before kissing him thoroughly and soundly, to the point where Peter feels dizzy and breathless and a little sad that they’re making the trek back to Bucky’s room, it seems so far away at the moment.

But when Bucky looks over his shoulder at Peter, grin crooked and boyish, giving Peter a glimpse of the charming solider from 1940’s that could’ve probably gotten away with murder with a smile like that, Peter can help thinking, _But God, what a way to go._


	2. 33.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d been having a good day. It was the first day of summer, he got to sleep in, Steve had made him pancakes to celebrate his survival of his last year of high school, he’d caught a glimpse of a shirtless Bucky on his way out of the Tower to meet MJ and Ned for lunch at their favorite pizza place, him and Ned found a sweet vintage Star Wars lego set and he’d been on his way to Mr. Delmar’s to pick a sandwich up for the walk back to the Tower when he’d heard the screams and smelled the smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I got the idea for this chapter after watching a scene in Spider-Man 2 and I'm really happy with how it turned out. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's read and reviewed, it means a lot to me that there's people out there that like this story and love this pairing as much as I do :)
> 
> Hope you like it :)

_33._

_An unexpected kiss that shocks the other one receiving it._

_“Peter, the building’s currently stability is dropping rapidly, I would advise you get out now—“_

“Not now, Karen—“ Peter huffs, lifting a beam and he can feel the heat of it all the way through the the IronSpider suit, burning his hands. He ignores it though, tossing it into a corner of the burning apartment building where it will (hopefully) be out of the way and tries to find his way through the thickening black smoke. “I’m kinda busy at the moment.”

The IronSpider suit is an improvement from his last suit—Tony really thought of _everything_ —but despite the filtration system, Peter can still smell the acrid smell of the smoke and it settles in his lungs, making him cough and his throat feel dry, like he hasn't drank water in _weeks._ He can feel the sweat rolling down his back and his temples, dampening his hair and making it stick to his forehead. Some of it lands in his eyes and he has to blink his eyes several times to get it to go away so can see. 

He pushes through it though, because he _needs_ to make sure everyone is out of the building before he leaves. 

“Karen, scan the area for any heat signatures, please.” Peter asks her and instantly, the schematics of the build pop up, including the dropping rate of stability of the support beams and _yeah, okay,_ they’re a little lower than what he would like to see, but in a perfect world, the building wouldn’t have caught on fire in the first place, but, as it would seem life is not a wish granting factory. 

He’d been having a good day. It was the first day of summer, he got to sleep in, Steve had made him pancakes to celebrate his survival of his last year of high school, he’d caught a glimpse of a shirtless Bucky on his way out of the Tower to meet MJ and Ned for lunch at their favorite pizza place, him and Ned found a sweet vintage Star Wars lego set and he’d been on his way to Mr. Delmar’s to pick a sandwich up for the walk back to the Tower when he’d heard the screams and smelled the smoke. 

With a sigh that was only _this_ side of reluctant, Peter had kissed away his dreams of a _#4 with extra pickles and squished down really flat,_ ducked into an alley way and tapped his watch, encasing himself in his suit and webbed off towards the commotion. 

One of the older apartment buildings that littered Queens had caught fire and by the time Peter got there, most of the people had evacuated but he’d run in anyways to make sure that no one got left behind. 

He ignores his AI’s pointed gesture and focuses on scanning the building, looking for heat signatures and with a sigh of relief, he doesn't see any. 

Karen confirms this. _“My scanners aren’t registering anymore heat signatures. However, the building’s stability rate has dropped to 30% and declining as we speak—“_

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter says, carefully walking down the hallway, ignoring the way the floor beneath his feet creaks ominously. “I’m going, I’m going. Don’t have a cow—"

A whimper makes him pause. 

Cocking his head to the side, he expands his senses, filtering out the sirens from below, the crackling of the flames, the creaks and groans of the building that’s probably going to collapse any minute—

Another whimper, followed by a weak cough and it’s coming from behind him. 

“Hello?” Peter shouts, carefully making his way back down the hallway. “Is anyone there?”

All he gets is another soft whimper in response and Peter’s heart constricts in his throat because it sounds so _small_ and _scared_ and he knows that it’s a child. 

_“I’m detecting a heat signature approximately twenty feet down the hallway,_ ” Karen informs him. _“He looks to be underneath some debris in the far back bedroom.”_

The building shakes, rattling the floor beneath his feet and he hears a crash behind him, but he ignores it, ducking under burning pieces of ceiling that are beginning to fall from above him. 

The whimpering gets louder, turning into loud cries. 

_“Peter, the building is going to collapse in approximately ten minutes, evacuation is advised._ ” Karen warns him and it does nothing to soothe the pounding of his heart. 

“I’ve got it Karen, thanks.” Peter mutters, trying to concentrate on not falling through the places where the floor has already collapsed through or think about the fact that he can see the flames shooting up from the floors beneath him. 

_“Should I call Tony Stark for back up?”_ Karen asks. 

“No, Karen, don’t call Tony—“ Peter shouts, narrowly missing a piece of dry wall that comes from out of nowhere. 

The smoke is getting thicker and the flames are crackling louder and Peter’s trying really hard to panic because it feels like the walls are closing in on him and he needs to focus—

“ _Your core temperature is rising and your oxygen levels are dropping—“_ Karen notifies him and Peter wonders if Tony purposely programmed the AI to sound worried when danger arises. 

“I’m fine, just— _shit_ —“ Peter curses, dodging a piece of flaming _something_ that falls from the ceiling. It falls right in front of him, blocking his path and he feels his stomach twist when he hears a helpless scream and he has to figure out a way, he can do this—

Biting the bullet, he paces back a few steps and then he runs, leaping over the flaming pile of rubble and he prays to Thor, Jesus, Joseph and Mary that the floor on the other side is still intact. 

“ _Building stability is now at 20%, calling Tony Stark_ —“ Karen announces as he’s mid-air. 

“No, Karen, don’t—“ Peter protests just as Tony’s face appears on the screen.

“Hey, kid, what’s shaking?” Tony asks over the sound of heavy metal playing in the background of the lab, tinkering with what looks like the roadsters engine and he doesn’t bother to look up, which Peter is thankful for. 

The floor groans when he lands and he breathes a sigh of relief, but it’s only brief because the building shakes again and the kid trapped in the room screams again and it catches Tony’s attention. 

“Kid, what are you— _ARE YOU IN A BURNING BUILDING?!”_ He demands, whatever tool he was using dropping to the floor with a loud clang. 

“Sorry, can’t talk right now—“ Peter grunts, kicking the door open with _bang_ and he damn near chokes as the thick black smoke assaults his senses, overwhelming the filter in his mask. “—I’m a little busy right now.”

“Hang on kid, I’m coming, JARVIS route me to Peter’s location and give me a live feed—“ Tony demands and Peter can hear the nano tech take shape around him. 

“Tony, I’ve got this, I’m—“ A loud crash sounds from behind him and it makes the building quake and more pieces of the ceiling fall, slamming into the weak floor and the flames immediately being licking at the fresh debris, feeding the growing pyre around him. “—fine.” Peter finishes with a squeak that he’ll deny to his dying day. 

_Which might be today,_ he thinks with a nervous laugh. 

“Yeah, that doesn't sound fine, hang tight kid, I’ll be there in five—“

_“What’s going on?_ ” A voice worried voice asks in the background. 

_Steve._

“My kid is just trapped in a burning building, just your typical Tuesday—“

“Is Peter okay? Is he hurt?” Another voice demands.

Despite being trapped in burning building, his heart flutters because it’s _Bucky_ that asked and he sounds _concerned,_ about _him_ , _Peter Parker—_

A weak cough pulls him from his thoughts and his eyes snap to a young boy, who can’t be older than five, trapped under a beam, little face covered in a mixture of soot and ash and tears and looking absolutely terrified. 

_Right, Peter,_ He thinks with a shake of his head, _focus._

“Hey, little guy,” Peter says, stepping over debris and burnt toys. “We’re gonna get you out of here, okay?”

“‘m scared,” the boy whimpers and it’s followed by a cough that rattles his little body and sends Peter’s panic through the roof.

“We’re on our way kid, hang tight.” Tony tells him and Peter just nods absently. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” Peter reassures him as he gently lifts the beam up off his body, “We’re gonna get you out of here, okay?” he repeats the promise and he prays down to his very bones that he can keep it. 

He scans the room and finds a blanket over in the corner that looks relatively unharmed. He grabs it with his webs, unraveling it and placing it gently over the little boy, wrapping him in it like a little burrito before he scoops him up, tucking the blanket around his face to keep him as protected from the smoke as he can. 

“Okay, I need you to keep your face in the blanket, can you do that for me?” Peter asks the little boy, who nods, burying his face in Peter’s chest, clinging to him as tightly as his little body will allow. 

The relief he feels at finding the kid is short lived when he looks up from adjusting the blanket and sees the entire room is engulfed in flames and the smoke so thick even _he_ can barely breathe. 

“Karen, help me out here, what are my options?” Peter demands, rocking the crying boy in his arms and trying his best to stay calm. 

_“Scanning for possibilities—“_ Karens replies and Peter tries not the panic when the map of the building is most engulfed in red, he doesn't need Karen to explain that this is bad, _really bad_ , bordering on _not good._

He knows going back the way he came isn't an option—he could make it through relatively unscathed, but the blanket the boy is wrapped in won’t and he didn’t come all this way just fail. He can do this, he can, he just needs to _think_ —

The window shatters behind him and Peter grips the boy tighter to his chest, shielding him from the glass that showers over them like rain. The boy’s crying grows louder at the sound and Peter looks over to the now fragmented window and the relief he feels at the familiar gold and red suit floating outside radiates all the way down to his knees. 

“Hey, kid, brought the calvary,” Tony greets, pointing down, to what Peter assumes, is the rest of the team. “Is there anyone else in the building?”

Peter shakes his head. “Just this little guy here,” He says, nodding down to the trembling boy in his arms. 

“Okay, hand him over to me and let’s get you both out of here,” Tony says, holding his arms out, wiggling his fingers in a _gimme_ gesture that Peter is all too happy to comply with. 

“Alright buddy, you get to fly with IronMan,” Peter says enthusiastically down the little boy, who’s peaking at him from underneath the blanket. “How cool is that? He’s gonna take you now and get you back to your parents—“

But as soon as he takes a step, the floor gives out beneath him and then he’s _falling,_ weightless into the flames below.

The little boy screams in terror and he hears Tony shout his name in horror and the sound of the thrusters blast and for a brief moment, Peter genuinely wonders if he’s going to die—he can feel the overwhelming heat from the flames licking at his body, even through the iron of the suit—but he manages to shoot a web to a relatively safe looking spot on what’s left of the ceiling and while it cracks under his weight, it holds and he’s able to wriggle the boy, who had slipped down around his hips during the fall back up to his chest. The blanket, however, falls into the flames and is engulfed immediately and the smoke is unbearable, stinging his eyes and his throat and he coughs harshly, rattling his chest and he’s _so_ grateful that the bite eliminated his severe asthma because all this ash and smoke and soot would’ve definitely sent him into an asthma attack that not even his inhaler could bring him back from.

Keeping one arm wrapped tightly around the little boy, he tries to pull them back up, but it only serves to make the ceiling groan in a _very not good way._

“Tony?” Peter shouts, not bothering to hide his distress. 

_“Peter?!”_ Tony’s worried voice demands and he looks up to see Tony hovering over the hole in the floor. 

“I’m okay,” He shouts up at him through a cough, looking down at the little boy, he adds, “We’re both okay.”

“Okay, just hang on, we’ll figure out how to get you both out of there—“

Peter shakes his head vehemently. “There’s no time, take him, I can wait—“

“—I’m not leaving you here to dangle over an inferno kid, next suggestion—“

_“Tony!”_ Peter snaps, letting his mask fall open and ignoring the sting of smoke in his eyes, he stares up at Tony with as much defiance and bravado as he can muster while he dangles from a collapsing ceiling above fifty foot flames. “There’s no time, take him from me and get him out of here, I’ll be fine.”

Tony hesitates for a brief moment, but another loud crash from another room sends him into action. 

“I swear to God, kid—“ Tony mutters, letting the unfinished threat dangle in the air between them as he swoops down and takes the kid out of Peter’s grip. 

“I think I can get both—“ Tony starts, hesitating once again, but Peter shakes his head as another blast from another room over sounds and this time, the whole building shudders. 

_“Peter, the building is going to collapse in approximately four minutes and twenty-seven seconds—“_ Karen’s worried voice tells him in his ear and he groans.

_“Go!”_

With a muttered curse, Tony disappears out the window with the kid in tow and Peter feels some of his stress lift, but it’s short lived when the building groans and shifts downwards and the ceiling he’s currently webbed to creaks loudly, groaning under his weight and he looks up to see the wood splinter, dropping him into the flames below with a sharp jerk that does nothing to help his situation and he watches, helpless, as the rest of the ceiling gives way and he can’t even bring himself to scream as he free falls into the fire below. He tries desperately to shoot another web, but there’s nothing to grab onto and he can feel the flames engulf his legs and all he can think is _imgonnadieimgonnadieimgonnadie—_

A hand grabs his wrist tightly, jerking his fall to a stop and with a gasp of surprise, Peter opens his eyes and through the heavy smoke and ash, he can see the way the metal hand glints in the light of the flame and he only has a moment to admire it before, with a sharp _tug_ , he’s yanked out of the inferno and then he’s gathered in a pair of strong arms and jumping out of a window just as the building collapses with a loud _boom_ that ricochets in his ears. 

They land with a harsh thud on the ground that makes Peter groan, which turns into a sharp cough and his lungs are burning, aching from all the smoke and ash and he closes his eyes, taking in the fresh air, _sweet, sweet,_ fresh air that he’ll never take for granted again—

“Peter?” A voice asks from above him and Peter must’ve died and gone to heaven because that voice sounds distinctly like—

“Peter, can you hear me?” The panicked voice demands again and there’s no way that’s who he thinks it is—

“ _Bucky?_ ” Peter murmurs confusedly, blinking his stinging eyes open and his vision swims in front of him for a moment before they focus on a pair of worried grey eyes hovering above him anxiously. 

“Peter? Are you okay? Can you breathe okay? Does anything hurt? Can you see okay? We need to get you to a doctor—“ Bucky starts to scoop him up, but Peter places a hand on his chest, stopping him. 

“Bucky, I’m okay,” Peter assures him and then he coughs and ruins the whole thing. 

“Yeah, you sound real fine, doll,” Bucky drawls, rolling his eyes as he tightens his grip on Peter and picks him up like he weighs nothing. Which shouldn't be as hot as it is and if Peter could swoon right now, he totally would. 

“Bucky, seriously, this is unnecessary, seriously, I feel a lot better—“ Peter protests and despite the harsh cough that he feels deep into his bones, being out in the fresh air is helping. He can feel his chest expanding, his lungs aren’t burning and the sting in his eyes is going away. 

“—I literally just pulled you out from a burning build, you’re getting looked over by a doctor—“ 

“—seriously, Bucky, that’s not necessary—“

_“Peter,”_ Bucky says, voice sharp and it pulls Peter up short, blinking up at the exasperated super soldier from underneath his lashes. 

Bucky looks like he’s aged a decade in the last five minutes, like pulling Peter from a literal pit of flames shaved a few years off his life and added a few grey hairs for good measure. He looks exhausted and there’s a wild look in his eyes that makes Peter’s stomach twist uncomfortably, guilt swelling in his gut and threatening to choke him like the smoke in his lungs he’s still coughing up. 

“ _Please_ ,” Bucky continues, voice softening and he sounds so _tired_ , weary, like the way he sounds when Peter shakes him awake from a nightmare. Like he was forced to re-live every terrible memory of the life he’s lead thus far and it makes Peter’s guilt worsen. “Just— _please_ , for my sanity, let them look you over.” 

His grey eyes are serious as they sweep over Peter’s form, a furrow between his brow that Peter wants to soothe with the tips of his fingers, but he feels like that would be weird and he doesn't want to do anything that might make Buck regret not leaving him to roast like a spider-kabob in the flames. So, instead, he settles deeper into Bucky’s hold, letting out a sigh that turns into a hacking cough and it sounds pathetic, even to Peter’s own ears. 

“Fine,” Peter says, voice resigned and he feels Bucky relax, the tension draining out of his shoulders. “But not here, I’ll let Bruce look me over when we get home.”

Some of Bucky’s earlier tension returns and he opens his mouth to protests, but Peter cuts him off with a hand on his cheek. 

“Bucky, I can make it back to the Tower,” Peter tells him, voice gentle. He looks over at the chaos that’s surrounding the few ambulances that were dispatched to the scene and the long line of people waiting to get checked over. He sees Tony on the phone, probably trying to get surrounding hospitals to dispatch more to help and he catches his eye and gives him a wave. Tony waves back, relief evident in his eyes when he sees for himself that Peter’s okay, but Peter knows he’s going to be in for it later. 

Looking back up at Bucky, who’s watching him with a look on his face that Peter can’t decipher, but it makes his heart race and his palms sweat and his lungs constrict for a very _different_ reason. 

“These people need it more than me,” Peter continues, waving his hand over to where they’re trying to shuffle as many people as they can through the paramedics to get looked over. “I’m not taking away what resources they might need and besides,” Peter says with a shrug, “I’ll probably be fine by the time we get back to the Tower, but,” he adds when the look shifts into a glower, “I’ll still have Bruce look me over.”

Bucky pauses in his stride, unsure, eyes flickering over to the EMT’s, the swamped paramedics and then back to Peter. 

“I’ll even have him throw in a few breathing treatments, if that’ll make you feel better,” Peter bargains when Bucky still looks unswayed. “C’mon, Buckaroo, whadday say?” Peter asks in a poor mockery of Bucky’s Brooklyn drawl and an over-exaggerated wiggle of his eyebrows, just to make Bucky laugh.

It doesn't make him laugh, but Peter can see his lips twitching into a small smile and he takes it as a small win. With a heavy sigh that sounds like Bucky’s questioning every life choice he’s ever made that could’ve lead him to this very moment, he heads towards the Quinjet that’s parked a street over. 

“ _Punk_ ,” Bucky mutters, but there’s no heat behind it, on the contrary, it sounds almost _affectionate_ and it makes Peter smile as he tucks his head right underneath Bucky’s chin, settling into his warm embrace and let’s Bucky carry him on to the Quinjet. 

*

Bucky doesn't let go of him until they make it to the med bay and Bruce has to all but pry him from Bucky’s hands so he can look Peter over and run some tests. 

Instead of leaving, like Peter thought he would, Bucky leans against the wall on the other side of the room, his eyes tracking Bruce’s every movement as he flutters around Peter to grab the necessary equipment to give him a thorough check up that Bucky had insisted on.

Bucky tenses when Bruce asks him to take his suit off so he can look him over and make sure Peter isn't sporting any burns that need tending to and the shiver that goes down Peter’s spine has nothing to do with cool temperature of the room or the shock of the cold stethoscope being pressed into his skin. 

“Your lungs sound a little wheezy,” Bruce mutters, pressing the stethoscope harder against Peter’s back. “Take another deep breath for me, Peter.”

Peter complies, breathing deep through his nose, wincing when his throat burns, his lungs ache in protest and the sharp cough that rattles his lungs makes him wince. He ignores the smug smirk Bucky sends his way when Bruce isn’t looking.

Bruce takes his temperature, his blood pressure and looks over the superficial cuts and scrapes, cleaning them with an antiseptic wipes that sting and the sharp smell of the chemicals makes his stomach churn. 

“Alright, Peter, I’m going to give you a few breathing treatments to help hurry your lungs along, but otherwise, I’m giving you a clean bill of health and you’re free to go after you’re done with the treatments,” Bruce says, scribbling something down in Peter’s medical chart—because Tony makes him document everything that has to do with everyone’s health, like a real hospital—and sets him up with the nebulizer and even though its been years, Peter remembers the routine like it’s second nature. 

Bruce takes notice. “Not your first time with this, huh?”

Peter shakes his head and takes the first inhale. “No, before the bite I had really bad asthma, had to have one of these at home and do it twice a day,” At the taste to the steroids, Peter winces. “I don’t miss it.”

Bruce chuckles, adjusting the levels. “I’m not going to give you much, your healing has already taken care of the worst of it, I just want to make sure you get everything out of your system.”

He pats Peter on the shoulder and tells him to take a few more inhales, leaving when one of the interns pokes her head in and tells him he’s needed in Dr. Cho’s office. 

Bucky glowers when the intern lingers, staring at Peter and when he looks down, he flushes all the way to his toes when he realizes he’s in nothing but his boxers. 

“I’m sure Tony Stark would love to know that the interns he pays to do medical research like to stand around and ogle the patients,” Bucky says with a shark like grin and with bright flush and muttered apology, the intern scurries off. 

Peter raises an eyebrow, but Bucky ignores him, eyes looking over the medical equipment with look of pure wonder on his face that makes Peter smile. He forgets, sometimes, that he and Steve grew up in a time where things as simple as nebulizer machine, were a far off dream of a future they’d never thought they’d get to see. It’s humbling, in a way and a reminder of how often people take things like this for granted, Peter included. 

“When Steve was a kid, he was so tiny and thin and he’d get these—attacks that would just rattle his whole body,” Bucky murmurs over the buzz of the machine. “His ma wasn’t always able to afford the medicated cigarettes they used back then so I’d sneak into the pharmacy and steal ‘em for him,” Tapping gently at the mask in Peter’s hand, he gives him a boyish grin, “This sure would’ve saved me a lot of grief. I can’t tell you how many times I got chased outta there with a broom.”

Peter snorts a laugh that turns into a cough and he has to pull the nebulizer mask away from his face so he doesn’t choke on the medicine. 

“Shit, doll, I didn’t mean to—“ Bucky starts, resting a hand on his back and rubbing small, soothing circles, “—fuck, should I get Bruce?”

He sounds panicked and Peter shakes his head, pressing his hand to Bucky’s chest to keep him place. 

“N—no, I’m—,” _cough,_ “I’m fine—it’s the—“ _cough,_ “—breathing treatments.” Peter says shakily, pressing a hand to his chest and rubbing it in gentle circles like May used to do, when he was a kid and he had a bad nightmare that sent him into an asthma attack. 

_“Just breathe, Peter,”_ she’d whisper, _“Just breathe.”_

“Easy,” Bucky murmurs, brushing his warm hand down Peter’s bare back, “Take it easy, doll, just breathe for me, I’ve got you.”

His voice is a low rumble and it sends a sliver of heat through Peter’s veins,goosebumps breaking out on his sink and he suddenly aware of just how close they are—he can feel every trail Bucky’s fingers trace over the bare skin of his back, he hear the flutter of his heart and smell the smoke and sweat that still clings to his skin—and it makes him lose his breath for a completely _different_ reason.

Their eyes meet and Peter’s breath catches in his throat when he sees that same _look_ from earlier—the one that makes Peter’s heart all fluttery and his stomach swoop and his hands shake and just as he’s about to blame it on the amount of steroids Bruce just pumped into his body, he sees Bucky’s eyes glance down at his lips and— _oh,_ he thinks, as Bucky’s lips brush against his, eyes fluttering shut. 

It’s gentle and sweet and barely a brush of lips, but Peter feels it all the way down to his toes. 

“Don’t ever scare me like that again, darlin’, do you hear me?” Bucky rasps, voice gravelly and so deep that it makes Peter shiver. 

He can only nod dumbly, stunned into silence because _Bucky just kissed him_ , Bucky kissed _him_ , _Peter Parker_ , _Bucky just kissed—_

“Hey, Peter you should be good to—oh, sorry,” Bruce says, eyes widening when he takes in the intimate way Bucky’s holding Peter—who’s still basically naked—and how close their faces are and Peter kind of wants to die. 

“No, Bruce, it’s fine,” Bucky says, taking a step back and Peter swears he’s seeing things because _there’s no way Bucky is blushing_ —

“I was just leaving,” Bucky continues and Peter has to hold back a laugh when he stumbles over a misplaced stool. “I’m sure there’s a debrief that I’ve got to, yeah—“ he mutters, making his way out of the room and Peter’s sure he’s blushing now, _holy shit—_

“Hey, Bucky?”

Bucky pauses in the doorway, looking at Peter over his shoulder and despite his flushed cheeks, his grey eyes are back to that same mask of indifference as he waits for whatever Peter has to say.

When Peter doesn't say anything, he raises an impatient eyebrow. “What, kid? I ain’t got all day.”

“Thank you, for you know—,” Peter shrugs, blushing, “—saving me and all.” he finishes with a shy smile. 

Bucky’s gaze softens and a small smile twitches at the corners of his lips—a smile that he only reserves for Peter. 

“Any time, doll.” He says gently and before he disappears down the hallway, he gives Peter one last _look,_ eyes twinkling. “Just don’t make a habit of it.”

He leaves him with that and Peter watches him go, sighing and blushing and it’s only until Bruce clears his throat that Peter even remembers he was there in the first place. 

Bruce gives him a raised eyebrow and Peter just gives him a look. 

“You saw nothing,” Peter tells him, cheeks flushing pink. 

“You’re right, I didn’t see anything,” Bruce says as he shuts the machines off and checks Peter’s breathing. His eyes twinkle when he hands Peter some of clothes.“However, I think I found the cause of your breathing problems.”

Peter groans and Bruce just laughs. 

When he releases him from medical, Peter feels like’s floating on a cloud as he makes his way up to his room to shower. He swears he can still feel Bucky’s lips ghosting over his, warm and chapped and tasting like the herbal tea he favors over coffee and it was just way better than anything he could’ve imagined. 

It follows him though the communal living room where he stops off to get some water and it even carries him through the thirty minute lecture Tony gives him—screaming and shouting about Peter giving him a heart attack—and eventually, Tony realizes he isn’t listening and sends him off to his room. 

_Despite the fire and almost dying_ , Peter thinks to himself as he strips out of his soot stained clothes, _today was a pretty great day._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :) Let me know what you think down below :) And if you have any suggestions on any scenes you may want to see in the future of this, let me know :)


	3. 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky hates parties. 
> 
> More specifically, he hates Tony Stark’s parties that the billionaire is prone to throw. For no fucking reason. 
> 
> But Bucky is wiling to do anything to make Peter happy and it’s a weakness he wears like a badge of honor, because Peter means everything to him and he wants to be everything Peter wants and deserves. 
> 
> And that’s why, when Tony told them after a mission briefing, he was throwing a party to celebrate the one year anniversary of defeating Thanos and expected them all to be there—which Bucky didn’t take as a shot at his expense, he didn’t—and Peter turned to him and batted those eyelashes and asked him, voice quiet and shy, if he’d be his date. Well. Bucky was helpless to say no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A self indulgent chapter that explores my appreciation for the suit Tom Holland wore for the Far From Home premiere and Sebastian Stan's leather tie he wore for the I, Tonya premiere. 
> 
> There's a slight dom/sub undertone but nothing too crazy or heavy, I just wanted to warn just in case
> 
> Thank you for the love and support :)
> 
> Please excuse any mistakes 
> 
> Enjoy :)

_12._

_Sneaking away to a corner to share a secretive kiss_

Bucky hates parties. 

More specifically, he hates Tony Stark’s parties that the billionaire is prone to throw. _For no fucking reason._

He hates the forced socialization with people he’s never met. He hates the stares and the murmurs people think he can’t hear. He hates the crowded atmosphere that makes him feel claustrophobic and twitchy and yearn for the peace and solitude of his room with Peter curled up next to him as they read or watch whatever movie Peter swears _he just has to see, oh my god, your mind is going to blown, Bucky, do you hear me? Absolutely blown._

Usually, his mind is actually _blown_ , Peter has good taste in movies and Bucky appreciates that he tries to stray from ones that have excessive explosions or fight scenes that end with someone dying or getting seriously hurt. However, every once in a while, after a particularly terrible movie that Peter swore was amazing, Bucky would be left staring at the screen and wondering how he was going to get the last two hours of his life back. But then Peter would look up at him with those big brown eyes full of excitement and ask Bucky what he thought of it, biting his bottom lip anxiously as he awaited Bucky’s response. And Bucky, unwilling to even see a glimmer of disappointment in those beautiful eyes, especially at his own hand, would lie through his teeth and tell Peter that he loved it, just so he could see those eyes light up and those sinful pink lips spread into that shy, pleased smile that did funny things to Bucky’s heart. 

He’d do anything to keep that smile on Peter’s face, even if meant suffering through shitty movies that Peter loves or taking him on dates to that Thai place he loves in Queens even though Bucky hates being in public. Or letting Peter and Morgan decorate his Vibranium arm with the magnetic poetry set Morgan got for Christmas, the two of them giggling and whispering to each other to see who could come up with the most inappropriate poem (which he doesn't hate as much as he says he does, because aside from Peter himself, there’s nothing Bucky loves more than watching Peter interact with Morgan, who adores Peter and looks up to. And Bucky knows Peter adores her right back—it lights up his whole face whenever they’re together, pure and utter devotion in his eyes when he gazes down at the little girl—even when she makes him dress up and sing Disney songs or play princess tea party with makeup and feather boas and tiaras or asks him to swing her around the compound’s property. It doesn't matter how tired Peter can be, he’d do anything for that little girl and it warms Bucky’s heart and makes him yearn for things he long ago accepted he’d had to give up. But with Peter, the possibility doesn't seem that far out reach).

The bottom line is, Bucky is wiling to do _anything_ to make Peter happy and it’s a weakness he wears like a badge of honor, because Peter means _everything_ to him and he wants to be everything Peter wants and deserves. 

And that’s why, when Tony told them after a mission briefing, he was throwing a party to celebrate the one year anniversary of defeating Thanos and expected them all to be there—which Bucky didn’t take as a shot at his expense, _he didn’t_ —and Peter turned to him and batted those eyelashes and asked him, voice quiet and shy, if he’d be his date. Well. Bucky was helpless to say no.

And it was something Steve took great glee in teasing him about when he swung by Bucky’s room and dropped off a garment bag with a new suit tailored specifically for him, curtsey of Tony Stark himself.

He also took his chance to remind Bucky, now a full blown, S.H.I.E.L.D. certified Avenger, he’s expected to at least make an appearance at these due to the amount of S.H.I.E.L.D agents and diplomats in attendance so they look more like a “united front”.

After rolling his eyes and shoving Steve out of his room, Bucky had stared at the garment bag for damn near twenty minutes, half afraid to open it and see whatever hideous pattern or color Stark took great glee in picking out for him. He’d been prepared for just about anything—glitter, rhinestones, _I <3 IronMan _embroidered on the back in _rhinestones_ and _glitter_ —but when he finally worked up the nerve to unzip the bag, a simple black suit stared back at him and he found himself relieved. 

The lapels of the suit were made of a soft black silk that matched the undershirt made of the same material and unsurprisingly, it fit him perfectly. The tie was made from a textured leather so thin and supple it felt like water through Bucky’s fingers. Stark was even thoughtful enough to include a new black leather glove made from the same leather as the tie to go over his Vibranium hand.

Bucky also tried _really_ hard not to think about how much a suit like this cost. Even the _label_ was made from silk, but Bucky had to admit—albeit grudgingly—that whoever this _Tom Ford_ guy was, he made a damn good suit and he found himself grateful—again, _grudgingly_ —towards the billionaire because Bucky had nothing like this in his minimal selection of clothes, so he wouldn't of had anything to wear to whatever shindig Stark was throwing. He never had an excuse to dress up like this and he found himself nervous, wondering what Peter would think of him—if he’d like it, if he’d thought he looked good all cleaned up like this, if he liked too much and expect Bucky to do it all the time or decide he preferred him better like this and be disappointed when Bucky was back in his usual jeans and t-shirts. 

And those thoughts persisted for the first hour of the party, as Bucky stands on the outskirts, sipping a whiskey neat and wishing, not for the first time, that the serum let him actually feel the alcohol’s effect. 

Peter had texted him and told him he was running late, but would be there soon, followed by at least ten apologies and no less than twenty different emoji’s to further explain his sadness over the situation. Despite the anxiety that was clawing at the pit of his stomach, he couldn't help the fond smile that graced his face when he read the text over. 

But now it was closing in on more like an hour and fifteen minutes and Bucky is starting to get worried. 

He sees Tony making his rounds with Pepper on his arm, looking, as always, as the striking power couple they are. He must sense his stare, because Tony excuses himself from his conversation with some politician Bucky vaguely recalls meeting at some awards ceremony or another and makes his way over to Bucky, who is down right fidgeting in his worry. 

“What’s with the doom and gloom, Johnny Cash?” Tony asks when he approaches him, wincing when Pepper elbows him discreetly in the ribs for the quip.

“Don’t be rude,” Pepper chides Tony. To Bucky, she smiles warmly and says, “You look very handsome tonight, Sargent Barnes.”

Truth be told, Pepper Potts-Stark intimidated the hell out of him and part of that was thinking she hated him for the same reasons that Tony despised him. But she was one of the few people that had treated him with genuine kindness when he moved into the compound.

Despite himself, Bucky can feel the flush on his cheeks and he gives her a tentative smile back and says, “Thank you, Mrs. Stark. You look beautiful, as always. Green suits you.” He returns, nodding to the elegant emerald green dress she’s wearing. 

Pepper smiles, pleased. “Thank you, Tony picked it out for me.”

“And by that, she means she picked it out, but it was my card that paid for it,” Tony says and this time he neatly doges the second elbow to the ribs, rolling his body out of the way and Bucky has to give it to the man, he doesn't even spill a drop his drink. 

And as amusing as it is to see Tony doge assault attempts from his wife, Bucky’s anxiety is about to reach unhealthy levels if he doesn't hear something about Peter in the next five seconds. 

It must show on his face, because Tony eyes him over the rim of his drink. “So, Grim Reaper, you never answered me: what’s with all the brooding? Underoos stand you up or something?” He asks and with a considering frown, he adds, “Where is Peter, by the way? I thought he was coming with you.” 

A worried crease forms between Tony’s eyebrows and his grip on his drink tightens. Eyes narrowing, Tony takes a threatening step forward and Bucky clenches his fist in the pocket of his suit. 

“Where is he, Barnes?” Tony demands, voice low and eyes flashing. “I swear to God, if something happened to him on your watch—“

Pepper, horrified, yanks Tony back to her side and Bucky clenches his jawso tight he can feel his teeth grinding together. The only thing that keeps him from lashing out at Tony is the fact that it would upset Peter, who was as close to Tony as any son was to their father, if Bucky did anything stupid. He could care less about making a scene in the room full of people who are beginning to stare and whisper amongst themselves as the tension between the two heroes—who they were supposed to be here celebrating, as irony would have it—is beginning to mount. 

Before Bucky could even think about responding, Steve appears next to them, a smile plastered on his face for the onlookers, but Bucky could see the way his eyes strain underneath the worry he’s doing a shitty job at hiding. 

“Problem, gentlemen?” Steve asks casually, sipping his beer and nodding to the people that pass by their little circle at the back of the room. 

His presence relaxes Bucky somewhat, but there’s still the underlying worry that while they stand here and fight over who loves Peter more, the boy in question could be seriously hurt or _worse._

“Peter texted me and told me he was going to be late,” Bucky says, turning to Steve and in the face of his best friend, he finds it’s easy to give in to the panic that’s been clawing at him all night. “But that was almost an hour and a half ago and I haven’t heard from him since and I’m just—really starting to worry because if he would’ve been _this_ late, I feel like he would’ve told me—“

Steve rests a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” he says, voice calm, soothing, the same tone he uses to comfort terrified civilians during an alien invasion. “I’m sure Peter is fine. He might’ve just got stuck in class or caught up in the lab—you know he can be as bad as Tony sometimes—“

“Hey!” Tony snaps indignantly from where he’s typing away at his phone, maybe trying to call Peter or get a read on the suit’s activity, Bucky isn't sure, but he feels a rush of gratefulness towards Tony’s tendency towards helicopter parenting, because if anyone can find him, it’s Tony and his paranoia. 

“—and I’m sure he’s on his way,” Steve continues, ignoring Tony. “If he doesn't show up soon, we’ll go out looking for him.”

Pepper places a hand on his other shoulder, her gaze gentle and motherly when she meets Bucky’s panicked gaze. “I’m sure he’s okay, Bucky. Like Steve said, he’s just like Tony when it comes to projects—“

“—I’m standing _right here—_ “ Tony mutters, tone annoyed but Bucky can hear some of his own panic reflected in the billionaire’s voice and it does nothing to quell the nerves in his stomach.

“—and I’m sure you’ll hear from him soon, okay?” Pepper continues, ignoring her husband completely and it’s a true testament to Bucky’s current mental state that he can’t enjoy that to it’s fullest extent. 

“Huh,” Tony says, tapping at his phone screen. “That’s weird—“

“What?” Bucky demands, not bothering to hide the shaking in his voice as he takes a step towards Tony and all but snatches the phone from his hands and scans the screen, heart and stomach twisting as he tries to make sense of what he’s seeing.

“If you don’t give me back my phone right now, so help me Barnes, I’ll rip that Vibranium arm off and beat you with it.” Tony threatens, grabbing over Bucky’s shoulder in a vain attempt to reach his phone. 

Bucky bats him away easily, not even bothering to look up from the screen and he finds himself snorting in amusement despite nerves clawing their way up his throat. “I’d love to see you try it, Stark.” 

The map on the screen blips with a dot in the shape of a spider and while Bucky finds it a bit disturbing that Tony seems to have a tracker in Peter’s phone, he’s thankful for it now as he watches it move… _through the compound?_

“That doesn't make any sense.” Bucky mutters to himself, tapping at the screen.

“What doesn't make sense?” Steve asks, looking over his shoulder and Bucky angles it so they can both see it better. 

“Huh, then that must mean—“ Steve starts, reaching a finger out to trace the path the little spider on the screen is heading in, following it to an even bigger cluster of dots—

“Hey guys! What are we looking at?” Peter asks from behind them and Bucky startles so badly, he drops the phone in his hands and it’s only saved from shattering into a million pieces by Steve grabbing it right before it hits the floor.

“ _Jesus_ , kid, don’t scare me like that, my heart ain’t wait it used to be,” Tony scolds with a hand to his chest, but Bucky can hear the relief in his voice and it mirrors his own. 

“Peter!” Pepper greets, frown melting into a genuine smile as she wraps him into a hug. “Where were you, sweetie? We were beginning to worry about you.”

_Understatement of the century_ , Bucky thinks to himself as he watches Peter’s eyebrows furrow over Pepper’s shoulder as he accepts her hug. 

“Didn’t Bucky tell you I was going to be a little late?” He asks, meeting Bucky’s eyes in confusion. 

“Kid, twenty minutes is a little late,” Tony drawls, sarcasm thick as his eyes sweep over Peter’s body— _assessing for injuries,_ Bucky thinks grimly to himself—before he pulls Peter into his arms for a hug. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for showing up to a party fashionably late, it’s only the cool thing to do after all, but two hours late just makes you look rude.”

Peter’s eyes widen behind the glasses he’s wearing, looking down at his watch in horror. “Two hours? I thought the party started at eight-thirty.”

Tony opens his mouth to respond, but Steve just claps Peter on the back. “It’s alright, Peter, we’re just happy you’re alright.”

Steve meets Bucky’s eyes— _stay calm, he’s okay,_ the unspoken message says and Bucky nods.

The thing is, he’s not even angry with Peter, it was an honest mistake and with everything the kid had to keep track of—homework for his classes and his internship and avenging and spending time with Bucky himself—he was sure it just slipped Peter’s mind. 

He’s more angry at himself—for letting his worry show, for getting worked up in the first place, for not trusting Peter to call him if he needed him—and the relief he feels at seeing that Peter is okay—that he’s in one piece, safe from any lurking danger and no visible injuries—makes his hands shake and his knees quake from the force of it, threatening to bowl him over. 

He’s vaguely aware of his little group dispersing, disappearing back into the crowd and leaving him alone with Peter, who looks so guilty and shamefaced that it makes Bucky’s stomach twist. 

“Bucky, I’m so sorry,” Peter starts, voice shaky. “I honestly thought the party started later and I was putting the finishing touches on my essay—“

Bucky can hear the words Peter’s saying, can see his lips moving as they form around them, but they don’t register in brain. Not when Peter is standing in front of him, _whole_ and _safe_ and so heartbreakingly beautiful Bucky swears his heart has shattered into a million, happy little pieces at the mere sight of him. 

The maroon suit he’s wearing compliments his chocolate curls and brings out the the gold flecks in his big, doe eyes that only look bigger when they’re framed by the tortoiseshell glasses he’s taken to wearing— glasses that, Bucky knows for a fact, are equipped with E.D.I.T.H., the program Tony created just for Peter in the instance that the final showdown with Thanos went differently. The suit fits Peter like a glove, emphasizing his trim waist and even though Bucky can’t see it, he’s willing to be that his ass is a sight to behold in the matching maroon pants that end right at his delicate ankles. 

But what really sets Bucky off is the black leather bow tie that rests at the base of Peter’s throat—made from the same material as the one that’s around Bucky’s neck. 

It a subtle detail, not likely something other people would likely pick up on, especially if they weren’t standing together, but _Bucky_ notices and that’s all that matters. 

_Because they match_

And it hits Bucky then, that their suits weren’t picked out by Tony. 

_Peter_ picked out this suit for him. 

_Peter_ took the time to design a suit specifically for him, so he could wear it, tonight. 

Because _Peter_ knows Bucky would’ve felt out of place and underdressed in anything he owned, which would’ve made him feel even more awkward and uncomfortable than he already was.

And _Peter_ knows him—his style, what he’s comfortable in—and he picked out something that Bucky would’ve picked out for himself. 

He even took the time to design matching ties for them to wear—a clever and discreet way of declaring their relationship to the outside world and even though Bucky is sure only a few people in the crowd might understand the significance of it, it meant the world to Bucky that Peter wanted to tie himself to Bucky in some way, no matter how small, for other people to see. 

Suddenly, the room feels too hot and too crowded, too many eyes on them and Peter is standing in front of him, fidgeting and looking nervous and it takes Bucky a moment to realizes that Peter isn't talking anymore—hasn’t been for a while now if the anxious look on his face is anything to go by—and Bucky’s just been standing there, gaping at him like an idiot. 

“Bucky?” Peter says, voice tentative and it’s enough to snap Bucky into action. 

Setting his glass down on whatever available surface that happens to be within arms reach (he’ll found out later that it was on top of a first edition Brontë novel that cost Tony what most people would pay for a decent house and that doesn't give Bucky some twisted sense of satisfaction, _it doesn't_ ) and grabs Peter gently by the arm, dragging the poor stuttering kid behind him as they make their way down a dark hallway, the sounds of the party fading to a tolerable level the further they get into the compound.

“—I’ve just been so busy with everything going on and it honestly just slipped my mind—“

Bucky’s searching ends when his eyes land on the small sunroom that’s tucked behind a bookshelf near their bedrooms. Scanning behind him to make sure no one sees them, even though they’re a decent ways away from the rest of the party, he doesn’t want anyone to see them. Once he deems it safe, he guides Peter into the dark room that’s only illuminated by the bright shine of the full moon. He presses Peter to the glass wall, admiring the way the moonlight dances over the the angles of Peter’s handsome face, giving him an almost ethereal glow and not for the first time, Bucky wonders if this beautiful boy is even real. 

“—seriously, I’ll understand if you’re mad at me, I made you worry and everyone else worry and I swear I didn’t mean to ruin tonight—“

He steals the rest of his words from Peter’s lips, tangling his fingers in those soft curls and reveling in the soft gasp that leaves Peter’s mouth, parting his lips and Bucky takes advantage of the opportunity that’s been gifted to him, tangling his tongue with Peter’s, tasting, teasing, wanting more than anything to devour this gorgeous boy that gets the pleasure of calling his. _All his._

Desire burns white hot in his veins and Bucky wishes, more than anything, that they could skip out on the rest of this party so he could strip Peter out of this suit and lose himself in Peter’s body—kiss and bite at his soft, supple skin, mark him up and make him _his_ , over and over until they’re both wrung out and spent. 

And judging by the way that Peter’s moaning into his mouth, breathless little whimpers that go straight to Bucky’s aching erection, Peter wants that, too. His delicate hands are gripping at Bucky’s shoulders hard enough to bruise and he’s kissing Bucky back like his very survival depends on it and it makes Bucky dizzy with want to know that Peter wants him just as much. 

“Fuck, darlin’,” Bucky murmurs between kisses, cupping Peter’s cheek in his hand, stroking his thumb over rose-stained skin, smirking when it makes Peter shiver. “We gotta—“ _kiss “—_ get back—“ _kiss_ “—to the party.”

“Don’t wanna,” Peter breathes, fingers teasing at the buttons on Bucky’s suit and Bucky groans into Peter’s mouth when his fingers thumb over his nipple, teasing it through the silk of his shirt, the soft drag of the material over the sensitive skin making him shiver. “Wanna be right here, with you.” He admits in a breathless pant, blinking up at Bucky through thick lashes, big doe eyes shining with arousal and sincerity. 

His heart stutters to a stop in his chest and his lower belly heats, desire pooling hot and heavy in his veins. Sliding his thigh between Peter’s legs, Bucky smirks when it pulls a moan from Peter’s kiss swollen lips and he ruts against it, chasing the friction that Bucky is only too happy to give him. 

“As you wish, doll,” Bucky whispers against his lips before he recaptures them, swallowing down Peter’s whimper when Bucky grinds against him. He wants Peter to know how much he’s wanted, how much Bucky’s body desires his. 

And _god,_ is that ever true, Bucky thinks with a groan as their erections brush together through the fabric of their pants. 

His body is so hyper aware of Peter’s—the warmth, the dips and curves and ridges of his muscles as they move and flex through the material of his clothes. He knows every scar, every freckle, every blemish on this beautiful boy’s skin. He knows the way it flushes when he’s embarrassed or shy, how it floods his cheeks with color, how it goes all the way down to his belly when he’s aroused and under Bucky’s attention. He knows how soft and smooth it is, how no matter how much Peter tries, it stays that pale, creamy white color that reminds Bucky of fresh fallen snow—so pure and perfect and begging to be touched. 

Bucky’s lip trail over the hinge of Peter’s jaw, down his smooth neck, sucking at his pulse point and he loves the way he can feel the flutter of his heart beat, strong and reassuring, against his lips. 

_He’s okay, he’s safe_ , Bucky reminds himself as he moves down to that spot behind Peter’s ear that never fails to make Peter melt like a popsicle on the Fourth of July. 

“Want you,” Peter whimpers, bucking his hips against the hard ridge of Bucky’s thigh, lithe fingers going to Bucky’s belt, fumbling with the buckle. 

Bucky tuts, catching Peter’s hands gently, but firmly, in his left hand, smirking when Peter whines in response. 

“What do you want, doll? Hmm?” Bucky taunts against the warm skin of Peter’s neck. “Want me to get on my knees and suck you off right here? Or,” he says, teasing Peter’s earlobe with his teeth, chuckling lowly when it makes Peter shiver, “do you want me fuck you right against this wall? Where anyone can walk in and see us? That what you want? The whole world to know how much you love it when I fuck you?”

Peter goes pliant in his arms, letting his head tip back against the cool glass window. “ _Please,”_ he begs, canting his hips up and looking up at Bucky with such a desperation that it makes his heart twinge and his cock twitch. 

“Oh, baby,” Bucky coos, trailing a finger down Peter’s chest, flicking a nipple with his nail, grinning when it makes Peter hiss. “Do you really think you deserve my cock after what you did to me?

Peter meets his eyes and Bucky’s heart constricts at the overwhelming amount of remorse floating in his honey-brown irises. He looks down right contrite, like he committed an unspeakable crime against humanity and if they were in a different situation, Bucky would find it amusing. 

“You had me so worried,” Bucky continues, letting his fingers tease at the edge of Peter’s waistband, dipping underneath the fabric so he can feel the warm skin of his belly. “I thought something happened to you because you were so late. I even went to Tony for help and you know how much I hate asking for his help,” He adds, teasing his fingers over Peter’s straining erection. “But I did it for you, doll.”

“‘M sorry, Bucky,” Peter whimpers and underneath the arousal, Bucky can see the genuine sincerity in his eyes and it soothes the part of him that had let his insecurities get the best of him, as they often do when he’s with Peter. No matter how much good he does, how many people he saves, it will never feel like enough to be worthy of someone as wonderful and inherently _good_ as Peter.

“I know you are, sweetheart,” Bucky says, brushing a gentle kiss over Peter’s lips. “But sometimes words aren’t enough, I need you to show me how sorry you are. Can you do that for me?”

Peter nods eagerly and Bucky hums against his lips, kissing him gently before releasing Peter’s hands and pulling away. 

He takes a moment to enjoy the sight of Peter—hair ruffled, lips swollen, jacket and shirt askew, cocking straining temptingly against the zipper of his pants and eyes almost black as they watch Bucky walk backwards towards the couch, undoing the tie around his neck as he goes. 

He beckons Peter closer, who follows the silent demand without complaint, stopping in front of Bucky and blinking up at him with a small smile dancing on his lips as he waits for further instructions. 

Bucky dangles the leather tie—the tie that Peter picked out for him—in the space between them and Peter’s cheeks flush a beautiful rosy hue in response. 

_Interesting_

“Why leather, sweetheart?” Bucky asks softly and even though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer, he wants Peter to confirm it for him. 

Peter swallows so hard his Adam’s apple bobs and Bucky finds himself wanting to follow the movement with his lips. “I—I thought you would like it,” Peter whispers. 

Bucky hums, letting the material brush against the soft skin of Peter’s flushed cheek. “And you were right, I do love it. I love it even more because we match.”

Peter’s smile is pleased—he’s downright beaming up at Bucky and it makes his heart flip flop in his chest at how proud Peter is at giving Bucky something he loves.

“But that’s not the only reason you picked it out for me, is it?” Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow when Peter’s blush turns almost _purple._ “Is it?” he prompts when Peter doesn't say anything. 

Peter shakes his head, biting his lip as he peaks up at Bucky shyly. “N-no, it’s not.” He admits, voice timid and taking in Bucky’s encouraging look, he adds in a voice so soft that Bucky is thankful that he has sensitive hearing, “I wanted to know what it would feel like…against my skin.” 

Bucky groans. _“Fuck.”_

Peter seems to take this as a good sign, because he presses closer and Bucky can feel every line of his body against his and it makes his cock throb harshly. He’s so hard he swears he’s about to bust through the material of his pants, cock straining against the zipper to the point of almost pain.

“Want me to tie you up, doll?” Bucky murmurs and he needs Peter to confirm it, consent to it because as much as Bucky wants to, he needs to know that Peter wants it, too.

“Please,” Peter whispers and that’s all Bucky needs to hear. 

“Turn around for me,” Bucky commands roughly and he has to fight back the urge to groan as Peter complies easily, twisting his body so his back is facing Bucky and he’s staring straight a head. 

He lets himself finally admire the way Peter’s ass looks in his pants—he was right, it _is_ a work of art, an absolute national treasure, if Bucky had anything to say about it—before he takes Peter’s wrists in his grip. 

“I’m gonna tie your wrists together,” Bucky tells him, brushing a thumb over his fluttering pulse before he lets the tie slip over the delicate skin. “And when I’m done, you’re going to turn around and get on your knees for me,” he continues as he wraps the supple leather around a few times and guides it into a knot. “And you’re going to make me come with just your mouth,” he tightens the knot so it’s secure, but he making sure it’s not too tight. “Is that okay with you, sweetheart?”

Peter nods, moaning when Bucky tugs on the tie. “Use your words, doll. I need to hear you.”

“Yes, Bucky,” Peter whimpers, looking at him over his shoulder, “I wanna suck you off.”

“Good boy,” Bucky murmurs, kissing the back of his neck. “Turn around for me.”

He sits down on the couch as Peter obeys, smirking when Peter’s eyes track his hands going to his belt, sliding it through the buckle and he pauses at the button, giving Peter one last once over. 

“You sure you’re okay with this?” Bucky asks, unsure. “I know you said you were, but I just want to make sure—“

“I’m sure,” Peter confirms quickly, meeting Bucky’s eyes. “I want you,” he adds, voice more gentle, sincere and Bucky smiles. 

“‘m all yours, doll,” He says, popping the button, sliding his zipper down and not bothering to even pull his pants down all the way, he just reaches into his boxer briefs and pulls his cock out, giving himself a few strokes to take the edge off, biting his lip to suppress a moan at the sensation. 

Peter’s gaze can only be described as _hungry_ as he stands there and watches Bucky lazily stroke himself, licking his lips when Bucky thumb swipes over the head, smearing the beading pre-cum over the sensitive skin. 

Peter sinks to his knees and looks up at Bucky through his eyelashes. “Is this how you want me?”

Bucky moans. “Perfect baby,” he assures, tangling his fingers in Peter’s curls and guiding him towards his cock. “Tell me if it’s too much and we’ll stop, okay?”

Peter nods, eyes focused on Bucky’s hand as it moves at a leisurely pace over his erection, and Bucky tugs his hair to get his attention. “Answer me.” He chides gently. 

Peter moans, eyelashes fluttering. “I promise if it’s too much I’ll tell you, now can I please—“

Bucky cuts him off by sliding the tip of his cock over his bottom lip and Peter needs no further encouragement. Licking his lips, he swallows Bucky down, hollowing his cheeks and _sucks._

“ _Fuck,”_ Bucky gasps, tangling his fingers in Peter’s wild curls and Peter hums, the vibrations around his aching cock make his toes curl and his back arch.

Peter’s mouth is warm and wet and _perfect,_ cradling his cock in its velvet heat and driving Bucky absolutely _wild._ It takes him a moment to get a rhythm, movements awkward and disjointed due to his inability to use his hands, but when gets the hang of it, Bucky has to grip the back of the couch to stop himself from fucking into Peter’s mouth. 

He sets a quick rhythm, bobbing his head, stroking the underside vein on the upstroke and Bucky bites back a moan when Peter’s tongue swirls over the sensitive head like it’s a lollipop, kitten licking the head and tonguing the slit, eyelashes fluttering at the taste, casting shadows over his flushed cheeks and Bucky’s heart constricts in his chest because he swears he’s never seen something more beautiful. 

“God, doll,” Bucky moans when Peter takes him all the way down, throat fluttering in the _best way_ and Bucky knows he isn’t gonna last much longer. “You’re so gorgeous like this, on your knees for me, sucking my cock so well, _fuck—“_

Peter moans, blinking up at Bucky with blown pupils and swollen red lips and Bucky tightens his hands in Peter’s hair, pulling at the soft strands gently. 

“Is this what you pictured, baby?” Bucky asks breathlessly, rubbing his thumb over the hinge of Peter’s jaw, cock twitching when he can feel himself in Peter’s mouth. “Being at my mercy while I fuck this pretty mouth of yours? Or did you think about me tying you to the headboard, spreading you out all nice and pretty while I finger you open nice and slow, maybe use my tongue, get you ready for my cock—“

“ _Bucky,”_ Peter whimpers, pulling off of Bucky’s cock with a lewd sounding _pop_ , voice hoarse and sounding so _wrecked_ that it makes Bucky’s head feel fuzzy at the edges. 

He looks completely fucked out—lips swollen, rosy flush on his cheeks, eyelashes wet with tears and Bucky has to reach down and grip himself in his hand when he sees a smear of pre-cum on his flushed lower lip. 

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Bucky asks, cupping Peter’s warm cheek in his palm. “Do you want to stop—“

Peter shakes his head vehemently. “No, I just—“ he groans, his hips canting upwards, seeking friction and Bucky smirks. “—I need to— _fuck_ —“

“You need to what?” Bucky teases gently, tracing his thumb over the curve of Peter’s cheekbone. “Do you need to take a break?”

Peter shakes his head again, resting his forehead on Bucky’s knee. “No, I just really need to—I want—“

“Want what, baby?” Bucky demands gently, tugging at Peter’s hair and when Peter meets his eyes, he can see the desperation and the frustration swimming underneath the desire and it makes him smirk. “Frustrating, ain’t it? Not being able to have what you want, when you want it?”

Peter nods and it only makes Bucky’s smirk widen. “Tell you what, darlin’,” Bucky murmurs, stroking Peter’s cheek. “If you’re a good boy and make me come, I’ll take you back to our room and spread you out on the bed and make love to you all night, any way you want it.” 

Peter moans a low, broken sound that makes Bucky grin, sharp and predatory. “That sound like a plan, sweetheart?”

Peter’s nodding before he can even finish the question, taking Bucky back into his mouth and sucking in earnest, determination shinning brightly in his chocolate eyes. 

“That’s it, baby,” Bucky murmurs, caressing Peter’s cheek with his thumb. “So good, doll, so good for me, doing such a good job—“

Peter preens at the praise, flicking his tongue over the head and laving it with the flat of his tongue and Bucky curses, gripping Peter’s hair tightly, hips twitching involuntary and Peter moans, bobbing his head back down and letting Bucky fuck into his mouth. 

“Fuck, doll, ’m gonna come—“ Bucky moans, tugging at Peter’s hair in a warning but Peter stays where he is, matching Bucky’s rhythm with his own and Bucky curses under his breath, chasing his release as his belly tightens, his heart stuttering, body singing with pleasure and wrapped in a haze of _PeterPeterPeterPeter._

Peter grazes the length of his cock with barest hint of teeth on the last upstroke and every nerve in Bucky’s body lights up like a Christmas tree, sending him over the edge, spiraling head first into his orgasm and Peer takes it beautifully—swallowing everything he gives, caressing him gently with his tongue until Bucky’s twitching from over simulation, collapsing backagainst the couch, chest heaving, head spinning and feeling much more loose limbed and relaxed than he’d been twenty minutes ago. 

He feels himself slip from Peter’s mouth and shivers when the cool air meets the sensitive skin of his spent cock, humming when he feels soft lips brush over the inside of his thighs. He blinks his eyes open, meeting Peter’s self-satisfied gaze with a grin and a shake of his head. 

“You’re a menace,” Bucky murmurs fondly, running his fingers through Peter’s disheveled curls.

Peter grins back, nuzzling into juncture of his thigh, the warmth of his laughter brushing over Bucky’s cock that’s already twitching with interest. “You love me.”

Something warm and languid unfurls in Bucky’s chest, spreading through his body like a gentle wave and he cups Peter’s cheek in his hand, brushing his thumb over his plump bottom lip. “You have no idea how much, baby.”

Peter flushes, eyes gleaming, smile shy and sweet and Bucky feels so full in that moment he swears he’s going to burst. 

He nudges Peter gently, who takes the hint and scoots back so Bucky can tuck himself back into his pants and fix his untucked shirt and redo his belt. He slides off the couch and lifts Peter gently from the floor, undoing the tie from his wrists and slipping it into his breast pocket, not bothering to redo it but still wanting people to see it, if they even bother to look. 

Bucky guides Peter’s wrists to his lips, where the pattern from the leather is pressed into the delicate skin. It’s superficial and already healing, but that doesn't stop Bucky from pressing gentle kisses to the abused skin—a silent apology that Peter accepts with a soft, pleased smile. 

“Okay, doll?” Bucky whispers between kisses, unable to help the concern lacing his voice. 

“‘M fine, Bucky,” Peter replies, voice equally as soft and Bucky hums, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. 

The urgency from earlier has disappeared, but Bucky can feel the familiar flicker of heat that’s always there when he’s this close to Peter, kissing him, touching him. Hell, just being around him makes Bucky feel like he’s floating and falling at the same time and he never wants the feeling to fade and he doesn't think it ever will, no matter how much time passes. 

“I’m sorry I worried you,” Peter says when they pull apart and some of the earlier tension returns in his eyes when they meet Bucky’s, dimming their usual sparkle. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Bucky soothes, brushing a kiss against his lips. “‘sides,” he adds with a teasing grin, “I like to think you more than made it up to me.”

Peter flushes bright red, biting his lip and eyeing the tie tucked away in Bucky’s breast pocket. Despite the slight embarrassment, Bucky can see the pleased grin threatening at the edges of his still swollen lips. “Yeah?” he asks, voice hopeful and bashful all at once. 

“Oh, doll,” Bucky murmurs, voice low and dangerous. “I’ll never be able to look at this tie the same way, not after that.”

Peter hums, pressing up against Bucky so tightly Bucky can feel every dip and curve of Peter’s body and he grins when he can still feel Peter’s cock straining against the seam of his pants. 

“Wanna take me back to our room and make good on that promise?” Peter whispers, voice dripping with suggestion and Bucky grins. 

“Now, doll,” Bucky drawls, smirking down at Peter. “We’ve got a party to get back to. After all,” he adds at Peter’s indignant sputter, “we wouldn’t want to be rude now, would we?”

“But—you said—I— _Bucky,”_ Peter whines as Bucky pulls away. “You _promised_.”

Bucky chuckles, kissing Peter’s cheek to take the sting out of his teasing. “That I did, but if you recall, I never said _when_ I was going to make good on that promise.”

Peter’s eyes narrow, an unimpressed frown on his lips and Bucky simply grins at him over his shoulder as he saunters back into the hallway, heading back in the direction of the hallway. 

“You coming?” He asks with a raised eyebrow when Peter fails to follow. 

_“I wish,”_ Peter mutters petulantly, sparing a mournful look at the couch as he takes Bucky’s offered hand and lets Bucky guide him back out into the party. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it :) let me know what you think in the comments below :)


	4. 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m going after HYDRA.”
> 
> Peter pauses in the doorway, dread turning the anger in his veins to ice and he barely registers the door knob snapping underneath his grip. His sharp inhale gets caught in his throat, threatening to choke him and he feels like the rug has been pulled out from underneath his feet. 
> 
> “What?” Peter breathes and his heart stops when he turns to face Bucky, who swallows heavily, gaze nervous, but underneath it, Peter can see the determination in his gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Sorry for the slow update, I went back and forth on this chapter for a while and I also started working on another Bucky/Peter fic that I would like to post soon, if possible. 
> 
> This chapter was inspired by the Falcon and the Winter Soldier, which I super stoked to watch. So if I had to put it in a timeline, it would be right before Bucky leaves to hunt down Zemo and all the predictions of what the show will entail are entirely my own. 
> 
> This chapter is a lil angstier than I usually write, but I love the way it turned out and I hope you guys do, too :)
> 
> Please forgive any mistakes, I'm posting this as roughly two in the morning and I did glance over it, but I might've missed a few things that I might go back and fix if this turns out to be filled to the brim with oopsies. 
> 
> I think the follow up chapter will be a companion piece to this, I already have an idea for it that's in the beginning draft stages so it will (hopefully) be posted soon :)
> 
> Enjoy :)

_46._

_A lingering kiss before a long trip a part_

The call comes late at night, the soft vibrations against the wood of the nightstand, rousing Peter from the edge of sleep he’s been teetering on for the last twenty minutes. The hand that had been running through his hair pauses and he feels the warm chest he’s been using as a pillow, move from underneath his cheek. 

Peter whines indignantly, blindly reaching out to stop Bucky from moving because he was warm and comfortable _dammit_ , but the asshole only chuckles, brushing a kiss to his forehead before he grabs his phone from the night stand, checking the screen to see who’s calling. 

“Shit,” Bucky mutters, slipping out of bed. “I need to take this.”

The tension in his voice has Peter snapping to, worry bubbling up in his gut that only worsens when Bucky answers the phone and starts speaking in flawless, rapid fire Russian, rather than the low, languid Brooklyn drawl that had been murmuring in his ear not even moments before—when Bucky had been half asleep and relaxed, on the edge of sleep, just like Peter had been. 

Bucky only resorts back to Russian for three reasons:

1). When he’s angry and Morgan—who is at that age where she thinks it’s cute to repeat _everything_ she hears— is around. He doesn't want to be responsible for teaching a five year old her first curse word.

_“Stark hates me enough as it is, I don’t need to add fuel to the fire by corrupting his kid.”_

2). When he and Natasha are conversing (read: gossiping or making fun of another member of the team—Peter may not understand Russian, but he understands _context_ and it’s not hard to figure out that the only time they seem to slip into their mother tongue is when someone on the team, usually _him,_ does something stupid or particularly embarrassing). 

3). When they’re having _alone time_ —as in, tangled together, naked and sweaty in Bucky’s bed, that low voice murmuring curses and praises in Russian in Peter’s ear that never fails to set Peter’s blood on _fire._

But since, a). a certain five year old is tucked away in her bed upstate and nowhere near them to hear Bucky curse up a storm, b). Natasha took Sam and Stave away on some super to secret mission and isn’t here to catch Peter doing something stupid to talk shit about him in Russian and c). as much as Peter wishes, he is neither 1). naked, 2). sweaty or 3). has an equally as naked and sweaty super solider on top of him, pounding him into the mattress. Well. He can’t help but think _something_ is up. 

Unease swells, slippery and unbidden, in the pit of his stomach because as far as Peter knows, Bucky has _never_ kept Peter in the dark about something before. Especially not something as serious as _whatever this is,_ seems to be. 

And watching Bucky pace silently along the carpeted floor at the foot of the bed, posture rigid, metal arm clenching and unclenching with a soft _whir_ of the vibranium nanites as his eyes stare down at floor as if it personally offended him while he listens to whatever the other person on the phone was telling him, Peter knows, with a sinking heart, that it’s something serious and he isn’t going to like it. 

He also has a feeling that he was _missing_ something. Like it was staring him right in the face and he just wasn’t seeing it and it was driving him _nuts._

So while he knows he won’t understand the conversation, he focuses on the other voice—it’s quick, sharp and just like Bucky, speaking in flawless Russian. But there’s a softness to the harsh roll of vowels and his grip on the sheets tightens when he hears a familiar phrase that only one other person in the world uses and it’s always in reference to _him,_ Peter. 

And Peter’s theory is only confirmed when Bucky’s eyes flit to his briefly—so quick, that in the darkness of the bedroom, it would’ve been impossible to pick up on had it not been for Peter’s enhanced vision. 

They’re talking about _him._

And if by the way Bucky pauses in his pacing to shift from foot to foot—a nervous gesture that Peter doesn't need to be an expert in body language to interpret—he’s anxious about something. Namely, something that has to do with _Peter_ and telling him something or the absence of Peter knowing something, if the unimpressed nature of the other person’s voice is anything to go by. 

And if Peter wasn’t sure that it was Natasha before, he is now. Because she's the only person that Peter knows that can convey that much unspoken disappointment, even in another language that Peter can’t even begin to grasp. 

(Peter would know, he’s heard her use it towards him on more than one occasion. Usually, when she knew Peter was puling his punches when they were sparring together or when he kept up a running commentary during a time she deemed inappropriate).

A mixture of amusement and annoyance momentarily eclipses the dread that’s taken up a permanent residence in his stomach, because it’s nice to have her ire directed at someone else for a change, but it’s also worrisome that Natasha was lecturing someone on being dishonest, which was a lot considering she was an ex-spy and spent most of her life honing in on her own particular lying skills. 

_And it’s not like Bucky’s life was much different, once upon a time,_ Peter thinks to himself and immediately, guilt chews at his heart for even thinking it. 

_Bucky wouldn't lie to me,_ he thinks, albeit anxiously, chewing absently on his lip, _not unless he thought he had a good reason to._

Peter’s pulled from his anxious thoughts when he hears Bucky huff in annoyance, muttering a quick goodbye before he chucks his phone on the end of the bed, running his fingers through his disheveled hair. 

Underneath the obvious tension, Peter can see an age old weariness settle around the lines of his eyes, a quiet fatigue that draws his shoulders in tightly, hunching in on himself to make himself smaller. It’s a familiar look, because it’s the same way he looks after Peter wakes him up from a nightmare and it tugs at Peter’s heart and makes the anxiety swimming in his stomach grow. 

“What did Nat want?” Peter asks, keeping voice soft so he doesn’t startle Bucky, who’s staring intently down at the carpet as if it holds all the answers to the world, seeming to be lost in his thoughts.

Bucky startles, blinking his eyes up to Peter in surprise, like he forgot Peter was even there in the first place and it does nothing to quell the nerves slithering like snakes in his stomach. 

“How’d you—“ Bucky starts, confused, but Peter just taps his ear in answer. 

When Bucky’s lips thin into a frown, Peter adds, “She’s also the only one who refers to me as ‘little spider’ _._ If it hadn’t been for that, I probably wouldn’t of picked up on the fact that it was her,” He shrugs his shoulders, looking down at the black silk sheets that rest across his lap and begins fiddling with a lose thread to give his fingers something to do. “I promise I didn’t go behind your back and learn Russian so I can eavesdrop on your conversations, so whatever secret you’re keeping from me is safe.” He assures, aiming for a joke, but it comes out too bitter to be passed off as one.

Peter chances a look up at Bucky and his heart drops into his knees when he sees Bucky’s shoulders relax, tension draining from his shoulders and the look on his face can only be described as _relieved._ It feels like a punch to the gut, having it confirmed, even without words, that Bucky _is_ keeping something from him. 

Peter recoils as if Bucky had slapped him, unprepared for how much that hurts—like someone just reached through his ribs and is squeezing his heart to the point of physical pain—and it leaves him unable to breathe through it. 

Bucky must see it written on his face, because he opens his mouth to say something but Peter just shakes his head with a sad smile. 

“Peter—“ Bucky says softly, and Peter can hear the apology in his voice but he ignores it, slipping out bed that he no longer feels welcome in and tries to find his shirt in the mess of blankets on the floor. 

“I—it’s fine, just—“ he cuts himself off when he finds it, tucked underneath the bedspread they always toss to the floor at night because they’re enhanced bodies run hotter than normal and even if Peter get’s cold, Bucky was always there to warm him up. He shrugs his shirt on, focusing too much on straightening it out when he’s just going to tug it right back off when he gets to his own room, but he’s just looking for an excuse to hide the tears that are welling in his eyes so Bucky can’t see just how hurt he is. 

Not meeting Bucky’s eyes, Peter gestures vaguely to the bedroom door, “I’m just gonna—“

Peter makes to get past Bucky, who’s positioned himself between the door and the foot of the bed, the only viable way to get out of the room without leaping over the bed and that seems a little bit childish, even though he wants to be anywhere but _here_ at the moment. 

So Peter squares his shoulders and tries to brush past Bucky, who, unsurprisingly, blocks his path and places a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Please,” Bucky whispers, flesh hand cupping Peter’s jaw, forcing Peter to look at him. “Don’t go. Stay.”

Hope flares in Peter’s heart, momentarily loosening the chokehold of hurt around his lungs and he meets Bucky’s eyes expectantly. 

“Are you going to tell me what you’re hiding from me?” Peter demands softly and he hates how vulnerable he sounds, how desperate he is to hear Bucky reassure him that he’s being paranoid.

It doesn’t come, however. 

Peter watches, throat constricting painfully, as Bucky’s face shutters, morphing into that cool mask of indifference that, despite Shuri wiping his mind clean of Hydra’s programming, still remains as a distant echo of his past. And while he may be able to pull the curtain over his face, his eyes give him a way every time and Peter can see the resounding _no_ flashing like a neon sign before Bucky even opens his mouth to respond.

Giving Bucky a weak smile, Peter pulls out of his grasp and heads for the door.

“Peter, please—“ Bucky murmurs and guilt swirls in Peter’s stomach at his pleading, hand hovering over the door handle and Bucky must see, because he presses on, voice rushed, “—just give me a second to—“

“To what?” Peter demands, whirling around to face him, suddenly so angry and _done_ with this whole situation, he doesn't care if anyone can over hear them. “Explain? You’ve already told me you wouldn’t, so that means you’re either going to lie to me some more or give me half truths and that’s just— _really_ shitty, because I always thought that you, of all people, would understand how important it is to be honest.”

“It’s not that I don't want to tell you,” Bucky says, voice low, careful, like he’smeasuring his words and it does _nothing_ to soothe the anger burning hot in Peter’s veins. “I just… _can’t_.”

Peter can’t help the eye roll or the scoff that follows if he tries, which he doesn’t, at least not very hard. “Right, because that makes me feel _so_ much better—“

“I just want to keep you safe,” Bucky snaps, eyes flashing, clenching his fists at his sides and Peter is so angry he can’t even admire the way the muscles in his biceps ripple with the movement. 

“Safe from _what?”_ Peter demands, throwing his hands up in frustration.

Bucky opens his mouth to respond, but all that leaves his lips is a strangled groan of irritation and Peter huffs a bitter laugh. 

“Right, you want to protect me, but you can’t even tell me what I need to be protected _from,”_ Peter spits with a sardonic smile. “Because at the end of the day, no matter what happens between us, I’m always going to be that stupid kid from Queens that no one will _ever_ take seriously,” Peter scoffs, grabbing the door handle, “Good luck with whatever it is you’re doing, send me a postcard when you get to wherever it is you’re going, now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to my room to get some sleep, so—“

“I’m going after HYDRA.”

Peter pauses in the doorway, dread turning the anger in his veins to ice and he barely registers the door knob snapping underneath his grip. His sharp inhale gets caught in his throat, threatening to choke him and he feels like the rug has been pulled out from underneath his feet. 

“What?” Peter breathes and his heart stops when he turns to face Bucky, who swallows heavily, gaze nervous, but underneath it, Peter can see the determination in his gaze. 

“The man who framed me in Vienna—Zemo—he’s escaped custody and he’s been seen around known HYDRA bases,” Bucky continues, watching Peter for a reaction, some of the tension leaving his shoulders when Peter stays quiet and doesn't move. “He’s up to something, I _know_ he is and he knows things—things about the Winter Soldier project and with HYDRA still out there I just—I’ll never be able to fully feel safe if I know they’re still out there, making more people like—well, like _me_.” He finishes, voice tinged with bitterness. 

Bucky sinks down on to the edge of the bed and rests his head in his hands, tugging at his hair in frustration. The weariness is back in full force, but when he meets Peter’s eyes, there’s an ago old pain, a haunted-ness that casts a dark shadow over the usually calm blue, like a storm cloud over the ocean, right before it rains. 

It’s a look Peter has only seen once before, a few months ago, when they first started… _this._ They’d fallen asleep while they were watching a movie and Bucky had woken up screaming, scaring the absolute _shit_ out of Peter, who had flung himself onto the ceiling in his fear, head whipping around to find the danger. When he realized that there was no imminent threat, he retracted himself from where he’d been clinging and woke Bucky up from the nightmare that had him firmly in it’s grasp. 

To his dying day, Peter will never forget the shiver of fear that went down his spine when Bucky finally woke up and met Peter’s eyes. He’d had never seen someone look at him with that much _terror_ before _—_ bone chilling, _animalistic_ almost in its viscerally—and it shook Peter to his very core. In that moment, Peter could see every scar, every wound, every horrible and twisted memory that HYDRA had inflicted upon Bucky and it tore at Peter’s insides and shattered his heart into a million pieces because _no one,_ not even the worst human being on the planet, deserved to suffer through that much… _torture_. It was agonizing and heartbreaking and Peter vowed that night, as he held Bucky’s body through the worst of the tremors, that _no one_ would ever hurt this sweet, kind and generous man ever again. Not on his watch, not when he was strong enough to protect Bucky from any harm that could befall him—Thanos, HYDRA—no one would ever get their hands on him again. He’d die before he let that happen. 

All of his previous anger at Bucky, dissipates, as if Thanos himself had snapped his fingers and willed it from existence. Peter doesn’t hesitate, crossing the room in three strides, kneeling down on the floor in front of Bucky, grabbing his hands where they dangle limply between his thighs and squeezing them tightly between his own. 

“Bucky,” Peter whispers, trying to push back the sudden lump in his throat. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Bucky shrugs, unable to meet Peter’s eyes and that only makes Peter more anxious and confused. 

“I could’ve helped you—do research or—or track him or build— _something,”_ Peter falters, eyebrows furrowing, “I don’t exactly know what this particular mission would involve, I’ve only ever tracked someone once and he was in the same state as me at the time—well, kind of, I planted the tracker and then Ned and I kind of had a tracking party while we waited for the guy to move—but—“ Peter shakes his head, coming back to himself, “—my point is, I could’ve helped you or you could’ve just… _talked_ to me about it, we could’ve come up with something together—“

“No, there’s no—“ Bucky starts with a dismissive shake of his head, cutting Peter off. A huff of laughter that’s anything _but_ amused leaves his lips before he continues, “—there’s no _together_ in this. This is something that I need to do on my own, this is my own mission to complete, not yours. No, not happening.” He says, voice firm and leaving no room for argument.

Too bad Peter never knows when to back down. 

“But yet you can ask Natasha to help you? What about Steve? Does he know—“ Bucky’s eyes flash with something at the mention of Steve and Peter catches it. 

Snorting a bitter laugh—because _of fucking course,_ he should’ve known— Peter stands, yanking his hands out of Bucky’s grasp and it twists the knife deeper when Bucky just lets him go, not even bothering to put up a fight.

“Let me guess _,”_ Peer starts, voice shaking with something he refuses to call _anything else_ besides rage, “the _mission—”_ he spits the word like a curse and something in side of him purrs in satisfaction when it makes Bucky flinch, “—Sam, Natasha and Steve went on had nothing to do with— _what was it?_ —oh _yes,_ recruiting,” Peter scoffs, shaking his head. “They’ve been looking into it for you, haven’t they? Because you can ask them for help, without question, but not me, right?” 

Bucky opens his mouth to respond, but Peter doesn’t want an answer to a rhetorical question, not when one more pressing is at the tip of his tongue, so he cuts him off before he can even begin. 

“If I hadn’t had been here tonight,” Peter starts, voice quivering, “were you ever going to tell me?”

“Peter—“ Bucky starts, voice tired and worn, but Peter doesn't care because he needs to _know._

_“_ Were you ever going to tell me?” Peter repeats, voice sharp, eyes burning with unshed tears. 

He waits, a heart beat, then two, and then three and then—

“No.”

Bucky says it so softly, that even with his enhanced hearing, Peter barely hears it over the sound of his own heart shattering. The dam inside of him breaks, hot tears spilling over his lashes and onto his flushed cheeks, but he ignores it. 

Clenching his shaking hands at his sides, Peter crosses them over his chest, just as much a defensive gesture as it is to hold himself together. He feels open and raw and wrung dry— _used,_ like a towel being discarded into the corner of the laundry room after it’s mopped up a mess on the floor. 

“Right,” Peter whispers and he hates himself for how much his voice shakes, “Then I guess I better leave so you can get ready to go, after all,” he adds with a bitter smile as he turns to head to his room, “you don’t need my help with that, do you?”

He can’t even bring himself to feel satisfied with how those parting words seem to _crush_ Bucky, who scrambles up off the bed and reaches out to grab Peter and Peter flinches so hard, recoiling from his touch that it makes Bucky stumble back in shock. 

Hurt flashes in his eyes and it only succeeds in making what remains of Peter’s heart, ache and the tears come faster and he knows if he doesn’t get out of here soon, it’s not going to be pretty and he can’t—he _won’t_ let Bucky see him like that.

“ _Peter,”_ Bucky whispers brokenly, eyes shining, “I—I would never—“

_Hurt you_

He doesn’t say, but Peter hears it anyways. 

“You just did,” Peter whispers with a sad smile before he turns on his heel and makes his way down the dark hallway to his own room. 

He barely has the door shut before he collapses against it, sliding down until he feels the cool carpet hit the back of his thighs. A sob rips it’s way past his lips, unbridled and more follow until he curls himself into a worn out ball on the floor and succumbs to the sleep pulling at the edges of his worn out mind

*

Peter wakes with a crick in his neck, an ache in his lower back and his limbs tingling from lack of blood flow. Judging by the grey light trickling in from his windows and the feeling of _too early_ pulling at his eyes, he hasn't been asleep longer than a few hours. Now that he’s awake and his mind is semi-alert, the reason for _why_ he’s curled up in the corner of his room like an actual spider, hits him like a ton of bricks and the ache of hurt and betrayal returns to his heart— sharp and unyielding and making it hard for him to breathe. 

Peter eyes his king size bed in the center of the room, still made and untouched from—well, whenever the last time he’d actually slept in it was. He can’t even remember the last time he’d actually used his room—other than to grab an old text book or a change of clothes—since he and Bucky became, well, _PeterandBucky._

Bucky had slept in here a couple of times, but Peter knew it was hard for him to wake up not in his own space—something he could easily recognize, especially if he woke up from a restless sleep or a nightmare—so they began sleeping more in Bucky’s room. And as a result, Peter started spending less and less time in his own space and now, sitting on the floor, alone, he felt like he didn’t belong here. 

Crawling into bed and falling asleep alone sounds too depressing, so he drags himself off the floor and into the bathroom, leaving his clothes in an uncaring trail behind him as he steps into the shower and tries to wash the last few nightmares hours off of him. 

Peter ignores the way the scent of his own soap smells wrong on his skin or how the feeling of his own fingers scratching at his scalp don’t feel as good as Bucky’s as he lathers the shampoo into his hair. And he’s almost got himself convinced that the stinging sensation in his eyes is because he somehow got soap in them and that it has nothing to do with the fact that all of this—waking up alone, showering alone, brushing his teeth alone, getting dressed alone and in his own clothes— just feels _wrong_ without Bucky in the background, filling the space with his humming or his teasing touches as he brushes past Peter in the bathroom or his closet as they get ready for the day. 

Peter ignores all of it as he pulls on an old pair of sweats and a t-shirt before he heads down to the lab to lose himself in… _something,_ even if he has to make up a totally new project as an excuse to not think for a while, he’s going to do it. 

He hesitates, however, just as he’s about to open his door. 

“JARVIS?” Peter asks, fiddling with the door knob. 

“Good morning young master Parker,” JARVIS responds dutifully, “What can I assist you with?”

“Can you—“ Peter hesitates, shame welling in his gut at what he’s about to ask, it’s the cowards way out and a small (read: _huge_ ) part of him feels guilty for it, but he can’t see Bucky right now, he just… _can’t._

JARVIS waits for him to finish his request and with a sigh, Peter closes his eyes and asks, “Can you tell me where Bucky is?”

JARVIS takes a moment to respond and when he does, it’s like the A.I. _knows_ what he’s doing and He Doesn’t Approve. 

“Sargent Barnes is currently in his room,” JARVIS says and Peter hates himself for the amount of relief he feels at the response. “Shall I ask him to come to your room, sir?” JARVIS asks and it sends Peter into an immediate panic. 

_“No!”_ Peter says, a lot louder than he planned and if an A.I.’s silence could compete for Most Disapproving, JARVIS would win gold. 

“No,” Peter continues, quieter this time, “No, I—I just wanted to know where he was. Thank you, JARVIS.”

A pause and then a swift, sarcastic sounding, “You’re most welcome, sir.” before JARVIS goes silent. 

Huffing in annoyance at the judge-y A.I., Peter hesitates for only a second, telling himself it’s childish to web out the window and slip through the outside vent of the lab, before he opens the door and walks out of his room.He fights the urge to sleuth down the hallway like he’s in some sort of spy movie, but he does take extra care to make his footsteps silent as he walks past Bucky’s room and into the open common area. 

The sky is still grey as Peter makes his way into the kitchen to grab a few snacks before he heads down to the lab, fighting the urge to run the entire way. He’s relieved when he makes it there without incident and the guilt makes the granola bars in his hand seem unappealing, so he tosses them onto the counter and goes for coffee instead. 

It’s already waiting for him—JARVIS may be judge-y, but he’s not a sadist—and after dousing it with enough cream and sugar, that, if not for the spider bit, would definitely give him cavities, he heads over to the StarkPad waiting for him on the lab table. 

Peter flips through his saved projects as he sips his coffee, trying to decide what he wants to lose himself in and just as he’s deciding to start a new project all together, he stumbles across the file Shuri has sent him on the Vibranium arm she had designed for Bucky after his last one got destroyed in Siberia. 

While the design wasn’t basic by any means—something designed by the Wakandan Princess could never be considered _basic—_ there was definitely room for improvement, especially with the news that Bucky had brought to light not even a few hours ago.

Biting his lip, Peter scans over the file, reading through Shuri’s notes and the ones Peter had added after initially receiving it—ideas for upgrades, things to add, things to take away—and even though his heart physically feels like it’s been put through a blender and turned into a cardiovascular smoothie, a cold sweat breaks out over his body at the thought of Bucky not having a back up option when he’s…wherever he was going. 

With that thought in mind, Peter sets his coffee down and ignoring the lump in his throat, he taps the file open and gets to work. 

*

“JARVIS, run configuration, please,” Peter asks over the sound of Lizzo blaring from the speakers above him. 

“ _Why men great until they gotta be great—“_

Peter hums along as he tightens a bolt in the wrist of the arm, huffing in frustration when it refuses to go in. He’s had to reconfigure this piece four times before he finally got the structure right and he’d be damned if one tiny bolt was going to fold it all like a stack of cards. 

_“—yeah I got boy problems, that’s the human in me—“_

“Configuration has failed, Master Parker,” JARVIS in forms after a beat and Peter throws the screw driver down in frustration, running his fingers through his hair. 

Admittedly, building an arm was a lot harder than he thought it was going to be. At least one with a nano housing unit in it, which Shuri’s design was not wanting to accept, even with a few tweaks here and there and it was slowly becoming a thorn in Peter’s side the longer he worked on it. 

“Alright, JARVIS, run diagnostics for me, let’s see—“ he muttered, tapping at the hologram of the arm. 

_“—help you with your career, just a little—“_

Peter snorts to himself as he shifts the housing unit from the wrist to the shoulder, only to have the screen flare red, denying the change and it Peter is _this_ close to throwing the whole thing at the wall and saying to _hell with it_ because it’s not like Bucky even _wanted_ his help to begin with.

_“—you supposed to hold me down, but you’re holding me back and that’s the sound of me not call you back—“_

Sighing to himself, he goes to pick up the screwdriver he’d thrown down in his aggravation, but it’s been moved over and replaced with a plate of food. Confused, Peter stares down at the plate piled high with sandwiches that he knows, just by the way his stomach rumbles with hunger and his mouth floods with drool, are from Delmar’s. Even if JARVIS had ordered them for him, which Peter doesn't recall asking him to, _someone_ had to go all the way to Queens to pick them up and bring them back—

Peter tenses, his hand tightening on the screw driver he somehow managed to pick up without looking and it snaps in his grip, the thick plastic of the handle slicing his palm. It’s not too painful, but its enough to drag his attention from the plate of sandwiches and inspect the damage on his hand.

_“Shit,”_ Peter mutters when he sees the blood oozing from the wound. It’s not deep enough to where he’d need to bother with stitches, but it’s bad enough to require a band aid if he doesn't want to bleed all over the place.

A metal hand offers him a napkin and Peter takes it without thought, pressing it to the wound, wincing at the stinging sensation. A first aid kit slides in next to the plate of food and Peter hesitates, but the blood doesn't seem to be stopping anytime soon so he resigns himself to dig through it, looking for the box of band aids he knows are kept in there somewhere. 

He takes his time fishing the box of bands aids out of the depths of the kit and despite his mood, he can’t help but laugh at the cast of _Frozen_ characters that stare up at him when he finally finds it. He takes out two—one that’s got multiple tiny dancing Olafs on it and the other features Ana, Elsa and a bunch of glittery snowflakes—and spends way too much time fiddling with them to be passed off as anything but _avoidance,_ but he can’t bring himself to care, not when the thought of last night makes tears spring to his eyes and makes the hole in his stomach throb to the point of pain and make it impossible to even _think_ about eating even one of those sandwiches that Bucky went all the way to Queens for, because he knows they’re Peter’s favorite and now they’re just going to go to waste because Peter can’t even _look_ at him without wanting to throw up from nerves. 

But Bucky is a persistent _sonofabitch_ and he pushes the plate closer to Peter, silently asking him to eat and Peter caves, because it’s Delmar’s and he can smell the extra pickles and they’re smooshed down flat, just how he likes them and he’s only a man, _okay?_

Peter ignores Bucky’s small hum of satisfaction as he eats the first sandwich in three bites and the second one goes down just as quickly, he savors the third and by the time he reaches the fourth, he can just picture Bucky’s self-satisfied smirk and it makes the sandwich harder to swallow. He manages it, because it’s _Delmar’s_ , but only just. 

Not taking his eyes off the half eaten sandwich in his hand, Peter tries (and fails) to feign casualty when he asks, “What are you doing here?”

“Heard you get up this morning,” Bucky answers after a beat of silence and Peter glances up at him, surprised, because he’d been literally so silent and Bucky still heard him, “Figured you skipped breakfast to avoid running into me in the kitchen—“

Peter feels himself flush and Bucky just gives him a mall, knowing smile, but his eyes are sad. 

“—and when you didn’t come up for lunch, I just wanted to make sure you got something in you other than coffee,” Bucky shrugs, looking around the lab at all the empty coffee cups and the empty granola bar wrappers Peter remembers eating about two hours into his science binge. “You’ve been spending too much time around Tony,” he adds, flicking one of the empty wrappers that’s littered around the lab table for emphasis. 

Peter ignores the jibe. He’d given up about a month into their relationship of Tony and Bucky ever getting along. 

“Thank you,” Peter says genuinely, but he feels compelled to add, “You didn’t have to go all the way to Queens to get me a sandwich.”

Bucky shrugs again, but he won’t meet Peter’s eyes, resting them, instead, on a crude drawing of an early design Peter had sketched out before he started building the arm. 

“I don’t mind, figured it was the least I could do,” He says quietly, eyes tracing over the specs Peter had listed out and crossed out and replaced countless of times before settling on a modified version of his list after many failed attempts to implement them all into one arm. 

His eyebrows are furrowed, lips pulled into a frown as he studies the paper in front of him and Peter has to fight the urge to reach across the table and snatch it away.

“What’s this?” Bucky asks softly, nodding down to the paper that’s now clasped in his hand. 

He glances up when Peter doesn't answer right away and now it’s Peter’s turn to avert his gaze, letting it fall to the half eaten sandwich still grasped in his hand. 

“I had Shuri send me her designs of your arm a few months ago,” Peter admits to the sandwich in his hands. “There’s nothing wrong with the one she made, quite the opposite actually,” Peter mutters, shooting a glare at the schematics of the one he was trying and _failing_ to make. “I had some ideas and I don’t know—I just wanted to play around with them, in case you ever wanted something new.”

Nodding to the paper in Bucky’s hand, Peter adds, “I’m working on this one right now, I got the idea for it a when we were in Germany, see look—“

Setting his sandwich down, he pulls the hologram over so it’s situated between them. He starts tapping the screen, pulling up what he wants the final product to look like. 

“I wanted it to look like a normal arm—flesh toned and even have a fluidity in the muscles so it appears real. You’ve always had a metal one and that sticks out like a sore thumb, but this way, you might fly under the radar a little bit more, which will help you blend, but it might also make someone think you’re vulnerable—“

“But it would still work like the one I have now,” Bucky murmurs, eyes trained on the spinning arm floating in front of him.

“Exactly. It’s a decoy and it could lure someone into a false sense of security, while also help hiding your identity, which might come in handy, especially for—well,” Peter falters as memories of last night flit through his mind and the sandwiches he ate a few minutes ago suddenly feel like lead in his stomach. 

He’s aware that he went behind Bucky’s back and did the exact opposite of what he’d asked of Peter. The memory makes him wince and his fingers pause over the screen and Bucky takes notice. 

“Peter—“ he starts, voice soft, but Peter clears his throat, cutting him off. 

“I can’t get the nano housing unit to implement into the design, but basically, the idea is that you’ll be able to turn it off and on when you want, kind of like my suit or Tony’s—“

“Peter—“

“—I still have a few ideas as to why it’s not working, but I haven’t gotten to testing them yet—“

“Peter—“

“—and obviously if you don’t like it, you don’t have to wear it, I just—it’s an option, just in case you ever want it or need it—“

_“Peter—“_

_“—_ I know you said you didn’t want my help, but I just needed to know that I did something to help, even if you didn’t want it—“

_“Peter.”_ Bucky says, voice sharp and sudden and it’s such a change from his earlier tone that it makes Peter pause, stomach rolling and meet Bucky’s gaze warily. 

Peter’s shoulders relax, albeit only slightly, when, instead of the anger and irritation he’d been expecting, he sees only a soft admiration lurking in the depths of Bucky’s slate-grey eyes. There’s something else hiding underneath the awe, a complexities of emotions that Peter can’t even begin to identify, they’re so twisted and tangled. 

_Like a spider-web,_ Peter thinks to himself with a mental snort. 

Bucky seems to be at a loss for what to say, mouth opening and closing as his gaze flickers helplessly between Peter and the holographic image of the arm still floating between them. He seems… _overwhelmed,_ like he’s incapable of figuring out the answer to a rather difficult problem and despite the anxiety clawing at his throat, Peter waits patiently for him to gather his bearings. 

“Doll, I—“ Bucky starts, swallowing heavily, “I don’t—I—just— _why_?” He finally asks and he looks so confused and _sad_ that it makes Peter’s heart twist.

It’s not why, as in, _why are you doing this after I asked you not to?_

It’s more of a why, as in, _why are you doing this after the way I treated you?_

And even though the question isn't the same, the answer _is_ and it’s one Peter doesn’t even have to think about. 

“The long answer? Because, even though I can’t be by your side, I want to keep you safe,” Peter begins, voice soft, gentle and Bucky swallows heavily, his eyes never leaving Peter’s as Peter slowly walks around the desk, “Because even though you didn’t ask for my help, I want to give it you. Because even though you drive me absolutely _insane_ , I want you to know that I’ll always be here for you. Even when you push me away,” Peter stops a few inches from where Bucky is perched on a lab stool and takes his hand, running his fingers reverently over the scarred knuckles, marveling, not for the first time, at just how well they fit together. 

Swallowing against the sudden lump in his throat, Peter meets Bucky’s gaze with suspiciously wet eyes.

“The short answer?” Peter continues, voice soft, “because I’ve never loved someone as much as I love you,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. 

And that’s the simple truth of it all, really. No matter how much Bucky hurt Peter by keeping everything from him, by not trusting him to help or to just be there for him through all of this, it does nothing to quell the all consuming _love_ Peter has for this man sitting before him. 

“ _God_ , James, you have no idea—“ Peter shakes his head with a laugh that comes out as more of a sob, tears slipping down his cheeks without his permission, “— _no idea_ ,” Peter repeats, voice shaking, “how much you mean to me. If anything happened to you—“ he cuts himself off with a noise that’s between a choked gasp and a sob and he closes his eyes against the ache in his chest at the thought of anything happening to Bucky while he’s off fighting against unknown monsters. 

Peter’s mind flashes back to that night he woke Bucky up from his nightmare—shaking and screaming and utterly _terrified—_ and it makes the ache in his chest grown until it feels like he can’t breathe. 

Bucky seems to understand, because he squeezes Peter’s hand tightly before he lets go in favor of cupping Peter’s face in his hands—one warm, one cool—and brushes the tears from his cheeks with a gentle swipe of his thumbs. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Bucky murmurs, voice soft and soothing, “it’s gonna be okay, doll, c’mon, don’t cry—“

Peter’s cheek flush in embarrassment at the admonishment and he tries to look away, but a gentle grip on his chin deters him. 

“Hey,” Bucky says gently, voice chiding, “look at me, doll,” when Peter doesn’t comply, Bucky adds, “ _please.”_

Peter swallows heavily, but gives in, meeting Bucky’s gaze warily. 

Bucky gives him a gentle smile, “There’s my beautiful boy,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over the curve of Peter’s cheek. Peter, leans into the tender touch helplessly, feeling some of his earlier panic ebb away the longer Bucky’s calloused thumb caresses the soft skin of his cheek. 

“”m not beautiful,” Peter mutters self-deprecatingly. 

“Oh, darlin’, there ain’t enough words in my vocabulary to describe just how gorgeous I think you are,” Bucky drawls, his thumb catching on the corner of Peter’s lip and despite the situation, Peter feels his heart flutter and his lower belly heat at the touch. It must show on his face, because Bucky smirks, dark and daring, but it’s gone as quick as it came, fading into a look so serious that Peter has to fight back a shiver of fear.

“I promise you, nothing is gonna happen to me, Peter,” Bucky says, voice strong and confident and Peter desperately wants to believe him. 

_But_

“You can’t promise that,” Peter whispers, and he _hates_ himself for it, especially when he sees the flash of hurt in Bucky’s eyes, but it’s the _truth._ Peter’s mind goes, unwillingly, to his parents, uncle Ben and it makes his throat tighten, “you can’t guarantee that nothing is going to happen to you, as much as you may want to, it’s not possible, it’s _not_ —“

Bucky cuts him off with a kiss, hard and searing, _desperate,_ Peter’s fuzzy thoughts supply dizzily. His lips are warm and chapped, his beard dragging deliciously over the soft skin of Peter’s cheeks and Peter wants _more,_ chases the taste of Bucky lips with his tongue as if it’s the last time he’ll ever get to have this. But before it could truly begin, it was over, Bucky pulling away with a sharp exhale that brushes over Peter’s lips in a teasing caress. 

Bucky rests his forehead against Peter’s and the heat in his gaze made Peter push closer to Bucky’s strong body, humming contentedly when he feels the steady beat of Bucky’s heart against his own. 

“Doll,” Bucky starts, voice a low rumble that makes Peter shiver, “I promise you, with everything that I have in me, that _nothing,_ not even HYDRA, will keep me from coming back to you,” Bucky vows, silver-blue eyes gleaming with sincerity and Peter can’t help but believe him, “You mean so much to me, Pete, _God_ you have no idea—“ Bucky shakes his head, closing his eyes and when he opens them, Peter is overwhelmed by the amount of utter devotion shining in Bucky’s eyes as he gazes down at Peter like he’s Bucky’s entire world—like he’s the sun and the moon and all of the stars wrapped up into one and Peter knows how that feels. Because it’s the same way he feels about Bucky. 

“I ain’t ever been in love before, doll,” Bucky admits in a whisper, “but if that’s what explains the way my heart races when I look at you or the way I can’t stop smiling when I think of you or the way I can’t seem to go five minutes without thinking ‘bout you or your lips,” Bucky brushes a thumb over Peter’s flushed bottom lip for emphasis, “or the way your cheeks turn the prettiest shade of red when you’re nervous or excited about something,” that same thumb curves over the flushed skin of Peter’s cheek, “or how beautiful your eyes look and how they’re the first thing I want to see when I wake up,” a gentle caress under the sensitive skin underneath his lashes, “or how holding you in my arm chases all the bad thoughts away and makes me feel more human than I’ve felt in years,” Bucky tugs him, if possible, even closer so they’re sharing the same breath, “or how I think you have the kindest heart of anyone I know. How much I love how sweet and thoughtful you are to every person you meet. How much you care about people you don’t even know. How you use your intelligence for nothing but good, when the smartest people I knew used it for nothing but evil.”

Bucky pauses, shaking his head, taking a deep, shuddering breath that exhales on a laugh, “If that’s what loving someone means, then doll, I’ve loved you from the moment you grabbed my metal arm and told me it was the coolest thing you’ve ever seen.”

Peter chokes on a laugh, stomach filled to the brim with fluttering butterflies and he wants to live in this moment forever, but Bucky’s not done. 

“And if you think for one second that I’m gonna let someone try and take that from me, take _this_ away from,” Bucky continues with a squeeze of Peter’s hands, voice raw and wrecked, “then you’re absolutely crazy, doll. No one, _no one,_ is gonna stop me from coming back to you in one piece, understand me, sweetheart?”

Bucky’s eyes are molten silver, shining with a promise that Peter knows, down to his very bones, that Bucky is going to do his damnedest to keep. 

All Peter can do is nod, but this satisfies Bucky, who manages to mutter a rumbled _good_ before they’re lips are meeting in a frenzied kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and _want_ so sharp it makes Peter breathless. 

They manage to stumble out of the lab and into the elevator, crashing through the communal floor and into Bucky’s room before they lose themselves to heat of it, the burning desire of _want_ that’s been humming through the air the minute Peter said _I love you._

The first time feels like an apology, soft whispers of regret and forgiveness absorbed by the warmth of their skin. The second time feels like a promise, a solidification of their whispered words to each other as their bodies twine together underneath the silk sheets. The third time feels like a goodbye, unhurried, as they memorize the dips and grooves of each other’s bodies like it’s the last time they’ll every have this. 

But Peter knows, as he drifts off in Bucky’s arms, that even if it is _goodbye,_ it’s only temporary; Bucky’s promise carved into his heart like the name engraved in the metal of the dog tags Bucky places around Peter’s neck before he leaves. 

“A promise,” Bucky murmurs in Peter’s ear as he hugs him tightly, “that I’ll come back for them and _you.”_

He seals it with a kiss, slow and gentle and _deep_ and Peter clings to Bucky with both hands, wanting him to stay, _here,_ in Peter’s arms, in their bed, where he’s safe from the people that want him dead. 

“I love you,” Peter reminds him softly, pressing closer to Bucky’s body and Bucky lets him, holding him close, running his fingers through Peter’s messy hair.

“Not as much as I love you, doll.” Bucky murmurs back, pressing a gentle kiss to Peter’s forehead. 

They linger in each other’s space—breathing the same air, sharing each other’s breaths and Peter holds the moment, much like the dog-tags, close to his heart, for safe keeping—before Bucky slips away and into the night, silently, like he was never there in the first place. 

Peter curls around Bucky’s pillow, inhales his scent that lingers behind on the fabric and thinks, _soon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think, comments keep me going :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it, please feel free to let me know what you think :)


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